After the Top Idol Omega and I Started Living Together - Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Rhythmic music echoed in the spacious room, starkly different from the twilight evening atmosphere.

A slanting sunset fell on the narrow window above the mirror, and a figure flashed across the mirror in front of Lu Zhao.

An Alpha’s intuition was always startlingly sharp. Lu Zhao disliked being disturbed, so she stopped her movements abruptly: “Who?”

Lu Zhao’s voice carried a hint of fierceness, her gaze in the mirror sharp as a blade.

Her amber pupils shot like an arrow, grazing past Sheng Jingyu’s cheek.

The breeze slipped through the open door, refreshing the air in the practice room. The sea breeze was brisk, yet it carried the sweet tang of fermented lychee.

Uncertain whether it was the alcohol or something else, or perhaps both, Sheng Jingyu’s heart skipped two beats, but she still stepped forward generously from behind the door.

Her steps were unhurried, and she gestured to the person looking at her through the mirror: “So you’re here.”

Familiar silent words appeared in Lu Zhao’s eyes, and she almost instantly withdrew her gaze.

Lu Zhao was somewhat surprised by Sheng Jingyu’s arrival, her voice tinged with confusion: “Miss Sheng…”

“Chenchen couldn’t find you and asked me to check if you were home,” Sheng Jingyu said lightly, explaining her purpose.

Lu Zhao was momentarily stunned.

She rushed to check her phone on the side, and missed calls popped up one after another on the screen, all from Chenchen.

Before returning Chenchen’s call, Lu Zhao first apologized to Sheng Jingyu: “Sorry, Miss Sheng. I was too focused on practicing dance earlier and didn’t notice my phone, making you come all this way.”

Sheng Jingyu paused slightly upon hearing Lu Zhao’s words.

This person seemed in good spirits, not at all like someone caught in the chaotic vortex of online turmoil.

A fleeting thought crossed Sheng Jingyu’s mind.

Perhaps Lu Zhao didn’t know about the events online.

Sheng Jingyu’s expression relaxed inexplicably, and seeing Lu Zhao about to open Weibo, she interrupted her action: “Miss Lu, call Chenchen back. She’s very worried about you.”

Lu Zhao had planned to do so anyway, so she didn’t question Sheng Jingyu’s intention and nodded: “Alright.”

The dialing sound rang slowly from the receiver, then was interrupted by an excited voice.

Chenchen held the phone, somewhat doubting if she’d misread: “Ah Zhao, Miss Sheng found you!”

“Yeah,” Lu Zhao nodded, her voice showing no trace of annoyance at Chenchen’s exaggerated reaction. “I was practicing dance earlier; how could I have time to check my phone?”

Chenchen let out a small “ah.”

Almost identically, she shared the same guess as Sheng Jingyu: “So you haven’t looked at your phone all afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Lu Zhao nodded again, her slightly raised head carrying a hint of defiance. “It’s easy to get criticized anyway, so how can I not dance well?”

“Alright, keep practicing then!” Chenchen’s tense heart relaxed, assuming Lu Zhao hadn’t seen the upsetting things, and subtly hinted, “Don’t scroll through your phone; use this time to practice more. I’ll buy some good food and come find you later.”

“Sounds good,” Lu Zhao agreed readily, her response overly cheerful.

She listened to the noisy background sounds on Chenchen’s end, then added, “Chenchen, thanks for the effort.”

“It’s nothing,” Chenchen thought Lu Zhao was referring to buying her a late-night snack and waved it off. “I’m Ah Zhao’s number one fan; our Ah Zhao is the best!”

Hearing Chenchen’s last two sentences, Lu Zhao’s eyes flickered.

She mumbled a soft “Hmm” and then hung up.

How could she not know about those things?

She just didn’t want Chenchen to worry.

Lu Zhao knew Chenchen hadn’t rushed over immediately, so she must have gone to the company.

The people at the company were so difficult to deal with; she couldn’t let Chenchen be distracted by her.

Besides, it wasn’t the first time this had happened. What couldn’t she handle?

The three-sided mirrors allowed dancers to better notice movement details and made it easier to catch things someone wanted to hide.

Sheng Jingyu calmly withdrew her gaze as Lu Zhao turned around.

As if to match the heat from dancing, the central air conditioning blew strongly.

The exposed waist was somewhat eye-catching, and Sheng Jingyu handed Lu Zhao a blanket: “The air conditioning is cold.”

Having gone through those events, Lu Zhao felt she really needed a blanket to warm up, so she reached out to take it: “Thank you.”

The blanket fell on her shoulders, bringing a trace of warmth that quickly soothed the chill from the cool breeze.

Though they’d been housemates for a while, even after what happened yesterday, Lu Zhao always felt some distance from Sheng Jingyu.

She knew her next words might be inappropriate, but at that moment, she wanted to be alone.

Lu Zhao squatted beside Sheng Jingyu, drinking water, and said, “I’m going to dance some more. Will Miss Sheng stay to watch?”

Sheng Jingyu knew Lu Zhao was politely asking her to leave; she understood and knew she should go.

But she could also see that Lu Zhao had been dancing so long her body must be at its limit, and continuing like this could lead to injury.

Lu Zhao, stubborn, quietly vented her emotions on achieving her goals, over and over, until she was exhausted.

Just like Sheng Jingyu once was.

Though their worlds were entirely different, their cores held similarities.

Her steps to leave halted abruptly, and Sheng Jingyu stood in front of Lu Zhao: “You’re not just focused on dancing; you’re just trying to forget those things.”

A direct hit.

Lu Zhao paused in surprise, then her eyes flashed with a troubled, bitter smile, as if she didn’t care: “You saw through me? I thought my acting was pretty good; even Chenchen didn’t notice.”

“You’re not suited for acting,” Sheng Jingyu said without smiling, her expression calm. “You’re suited for singing.”

Lu Zhao’s eyes dimmed at her words: “But some people don’t want me to sing.”

Sheng Jingyu was sharp: “Is today’s incident caused by the person who doesn’t want you to sing?”

“Hmm,” Lu Zhao nodded, her tone not particularly hateful but rather numb. “A few days ago, I made Si Liaoliao lose face, so she had to find a chance to get back at me. That’s just how she is, always against me.”

Sheng Jingyu slightly furrowed her brow.

She didn’t know Si Liaoliao, but a few days ago, Chenchen had mentioned something similar, and combined with Lu Zhao giving her a gift that day…

The clues that didn’t connect at Cheng Xin’s now came together, and Sheng Jingyu gestured: “Si Liaoliao is your teammate.”

Lu Zhao noticed Sheng Jingyu’s tone suggested she wasn’t familiar with her group members, yet she accurately mentioned her and Si Liaoliao.

An emotion long dormant suddenly stirred in Lu Zhao’s heart; bad memories always came faster than anything else.

Somewhat nervous, Lu Zhao asked, “Does Miss Sheng know her?”

Sheng Jingyu answered honestly: “I don’t know her.”

She rarely followed domestic entertainment, so calling her a recluse of the music industry wasn’t far off.

Lu Zhao inexplicably relaxed, then saw Sheng Jingyu gesture to her: “Continue.”

Sheng Jingyu gestured calmly, pulling the topic back to earlier.

Lu Zhao leaned on her side, looking at Sheng Jingyu beside her and smiling: “Miss Sheng is sly. You won’t tell me how you know about Si Liaoliao, yet now you’re trying to get me to spill about our feud.”

Sheng Jingyu said lightly, “You told me.”

“You gave me the clues; my understanding came from you.”

The three-sided glass reflected the central light, illuminating the entire space brightly.

Even the ambiguity of the words filled Lu Zhao’s ears; being linked with you always felt suggestive.

Sheng Jingyu remained calm, seemingly unaware of the other meaning in her words.

Her upright figure reflected in the mirror, her neck slightly raised, like a proud, pristine swan, making others seem to have ulterior motives.

Lu Zhao’s voice softened: “Miss Sheng is very clever.”

As if to shift her gaze, she lay back on the floor, her voice lazy: “If I were half as clever as Miss Sheng, that’d be great.”

The blanket couldn’t cover her figure as she lay down; her flat abdomen entered Sheng Jingyu’s view.

By now, the sweat on Lu Zhao’s waist had dried, the light hitting it with a porcelain-white glow, delicate yet with a slight softness, like lychee flesh.

Sheng Jingyu’s gaze paused, calmly and restrainedly raising her hand: “Miss Lu, I have something to say, and I hope it won’t upset you.”

Lu Zhao knew Sheng Jingyu wasn’t the type to preach hypocritically, so seeing her speak this way, she nodded: “Miss Sheng, just say it.”

Sheng Jingyu said, “Though most artists in the entertainment industry rely on their looks to serve others, those who go far depend on strength.”

Lu Zhao naturally agreed: “I know. Like Jing Yun, even if no one knows what she looks like under the veil, she still wins countless awards.”

Lu Zhao knew today’s incident stemmed from this “serving others with looks” issue and understood Sheng Jingyu’s meaning.

For some reason, Lu Zhao didn’t want Sheng Jingyu to think she was that kind of person, so she explained, “Miss Sheng, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I’m not jealous of my teammate releasing a single or acting out of envy to want one too. I genuinely want to sing my songs for everyone.”

At this, Lu Zhao’s gaze shifted to the ceiling as if avoiding, her voice dropping: “But my current company won’t give me that, nor allow me to do it myself.”

“I just want time to pass faster, for my contract with the company to end, so I can sign with a better one.”

Sheng Jingyu looked at the person in the mirror, her thoughts pausing for a moment: “What kind of company does Miss Lu consider good?”

“One that lets me release records is good,” Lu Zhao blurted out.

“I won’t say polite words, and don’t laugh at me for lacking ambition,” she said with some candor and self-mockery, smiling at Sheng Jingyu as if unburdening herself to this overly quiet person. “I know the best is Jing Yun’s vinyl music company. I’d love to join her company, but who am I to deserve that?”

“Miss Sheng, I need resources. I want to sing.”

Lu Zhao spoke earnestly, with a long-held yearning.

Hope always clashed with reality, and Lu Zhao’s expression grew forlorn: “I’m not what they say, just trying to sell my looks to stay relevant. I’ve written several songs.”

Did she not feel wronged?

How could she not feel wronged?

Over the past two years, her teammates received resources from the group’s company one by one, while she picked up their leftovers as a guest star.

She wrote songs, eager to share them on Weibo with her fans, only for her company to force their deletion, scolding her for breaking rules.

The two companies were like towering walls, blocking Lu Zhao’s path completely.

Sheng Jingyu saw through Lu Zhao’s expression and gestured: “Sing a line of a song you wrote for me.”

Lu Zhao was momentarily stunned.

Then her eyes met Sheng Jingyu’s gaze.

Those silver-gray eyes, reflecting the incandescent light, cast a cool, calm shimmer, with a touch of unreal gentleness, as if asking, “Is that okay?”

It was the first time Lu Zhao heard words in someone’s eyes.

Cool and clear.

Like moonlight on a cold night, like the air after summer rain.

Lu Zhao’s throat rolled lightly, her slightly parted lips letting out a faint fragrance, her long lashes lowering as she sang softly: “Will we meet tomorrow, can the one we meet again have a chance to reunite…”

Unlike the intense music in the room earlier, Lu Zhao’s voice was quiet and beautiful.

Her voice, in her best range, had a clean, clear quality, untainted, as if a sea breeze brushed by, waves lapping over bare feet on the sandy shore.

Sheng Jingyu was slightly surprised.

In just a few days, this person’s voice had improved so much, and her composition sounded good, with a touch of genius.

This person had talent far beyond many in the music industry Sheng Jingyu knew. With proper training, she might truly reach the level she desired, matching Sheng Jingyu herself.

Sheng Jingyu pursed her lips and commented: “You’ve improved greatly.”

“I said, I need resources,” Lu Zhao replied with a smile, her seemingly boastful pride hiding a barely noticeable struggle.

Sheng Jingyu lowered her gaze slightly and gestured to Lu Zhao: “What about me?”

The words came out of nowhere, and Lu Zhao didn’t understand.

Yet it was as if she understood something.

The incandescent light spread evenly in the room, and Sheng Jingyu looked at Lu Zhao, gesturing word by word: “What if I become Miss Lu’s future resource?”