After the Top Idol Omega and I Started Living Together - Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Sunlight fell directly on the water’s surface, refracting shimmering waves, and slowly settled into calmness.

The more deserted the surroundings, the more obscure they seemed; silence rippled like waves in the vast swimming pool, with ambiguity finding no place to hide.

Sheng Jingyu’s toes slowly stabilized as they stepped into the water, the slightly cool temperature soaking through her body.

But gradually, a trace of warmth spread from her waist, particularly noticeable in the cool breeze-filled pool.

Although Lu Zhao mischievously pulled her down from the pool’s edge, her hand firmly grasped that slender waist.

This action left no distance between them; no matter how the water rippled, it couldn’t pass through their closeness, and the soaked clothing clung together without any gap.

The cooler it felt, the more distinct the warmth became.

The sea breeze carried countless lychees from somewhere, their sweet fragrance rolling layer by layer into her nostrils.

Sheng Jingyu slightly raised her gaze to look at the person in front of her, her toes touching the water tensing slightly.

That night in the car, the light wasn’t great, only faintly showing Lu Zhao’s outline, unlike now, with bright daylight and brilliant rays filling the background of Sheng Jingyu’s view, illuminating Lu Zhao’s face, so close, so brightly.

Her raven-feather-like eyelashes, wet from the water, clumped together, laden with deep black.

She slightly lowered her gaze, her amber eyes as radiant as ever, yet made even more captivating by the water droplets clinging to them.

Compared to Sheng Jingyu’s pale, sickly complexion, Lu Zhao’s vitality was far more vibrant.

Her wet lips parted slightly, the moving air brushing past them, rosy and alluring, like the color of lychee shells, full like lychee flesh.

The surroundings were utterly silent, the sea breeze hushed.

Shadows swayed far and near with the water’s ripples, and Lu Zhao in Sheng Jingyu’s gaze seemed to grow larger bit by bit, as if pushed by the water.

Sheng Jingyu watched Lu Zhao leaning closer, her gray-silver pupils seeming to lose color under the sunlight.

Her confusion seemed vivid, as if she truly didn’t know what Lu Zhao’s slow approach meant.

Yet her confusion was also real; she didn’t understand why she was half-resisting, half-accepting this unclear kiss Lu Zhao was about to give.

Sheng Jingyu was never someone who couldn’t control her desires.

But the taste of indulgence had already happened to her once.

And this time, her heart stirred again.

Sunlight grazed the gap between Sheng Jingyu and Lu Zhao, leaving circles of halos.

The sea breeze touched Sheng Jingyu’s nose, passed through her body, and stirred her heart, its unsteady beating like her obscure, unspoken anticipation.

But just as Sheng Jingyu thought Lu Zhao’s approach would quicken her heartbeat, that warm breath brushed past her cheek.

That slender arm rose from the water, calmly lifting the stray hair stuck to Sheng Jingyu’s face.

Fingers with water droplets, slightly cool, grazed Sheng Jingyu’s cheek and ear, like floating ice falling into a burning flame.

Sheng Jingyu’s body, submerged in water, suddenly stiffened.

She looked up to see Lu Zhao gazing at her with those same eyes that had just watched her, and perhaps due to the angle, that beautiful amber seemed clear, untainted by any impurity.

Lu Zhao naturally helped Sheng Jingyu tidy her hair, saying lightly, “Your hair fell down.”

Sheng Jingyu nodded calmly, saying, “Thanks.”

The calm water surface rippled in circles, and Lu Zhao then主动 released the hand around Sheng Jingyu’s waist.

The intimate distance was silently pulled apart; no one reached to hold onto that warmth, nor did anyone mention the kiss that almost happened.

It was like a small interlude that shouldn’t be taken to heart.

No ambiguity, only a misunderstanding.

But this could be Sheng Jingyu’s misunderstanding.

It wasn’t Lu Zhao’s.

In that moment, she truly wanted to kiss her.

Water droplets splashed on Sheng Jingyu’s face, her gray-silver eyes calm yet tinged with slight panic.

Like a rabbit thrown into a pool, pitifully stirring hearts.

If it were in the past, Lu Zhao would have controlled herself.

But this heartbeat stirred a nerve in her, those slightly parted lips covered with a sheen of water, centered in her vision, a desire to indulge, urging her subconscious to take over her mind.

Lu Zhao didn’t know where this indulgence came from, but her shadow slowly approached Sheng Jingyu.

Approaching the teacher she spent day and night with…

Suddenly, Lu Zhao’s pupils paused.

As if waking from a dream, she looked at Sheng Jingyu in her vision, calmly and quickly raising her hand.

Her unrestrained breath brushed past Sheng Jingyu’s lips, her urgently raised hand touching her earlobe.

She stirred restlessly.

She didn’t dare break the rule.

Her mind flashed with strange, obscure ambiguity, tangled with indescribable feelings.

Lu Zhao feared her desire for Sheng Jingyu stemmed from an Alpha’s longing for an Omega, yet also feared it wasn’t for that reason, silently creating some distance between them.

The sudden heat in her body was gradually consumed by the cool pool water; after a while, Lu Zhao casually said to Sheng Jingyu beside her, “Teacher, how long are we staying here?”

As her voice sounded, Sheng Jingyu’s gaze on the pool’s surface withdrew.

Her eyes were even calmer than Lu Zhao’s, pausing a bit long, her mind not thinking, only asking, “How long do you want?”

Lu Zhao thought and estimated a suitable time, “Two days?”

She quite liked this place, but many things awaited her in that world, “Too long won’t do, the show starts recording next week.”

Sheng Jingyu nodded upon hearing this, “Then two days.”

The ambiguity was too much, nearly sparking something; saying it didn’t weigh on the heart was false.

For the rest of the time, Lu Zhao and Sheng Jingyu kept their distance, the pool water serene, each quietly lost in their thoughts.

Breakfast was eaten too late, so lunch merged with dinner into one meal.

The closer to summer, the longer the days; in spring, the sun would set by four or five, but now it lingered at the seaside, leisurely illuminating the world.

After dinner, Sheng Jingyu went upstairs to change into a floral long dress, a cream-white crocheted shawl draped over her, hazily outlining her graceful figure.

Her mind was inexplicably chaotic now, thoughts tangled like knotted ropes, piled messily in her brain.

Sheng Jingyu wanted to walk alone on the beach below.

Perhaps walking by the sea could untangle these ropes.

In the past, when Sheng Jingyu was unsure, she often did this.

Some seemingly complex matters, listed one by one, became clear—what to keep, what to do for her best interest.

Not just Chen Annie thought so; many who interacted with Sheng Jingyu found her overly rational.

This rationality sometimes scared those around her, as if she had no emotions, always following the optimal solution, ensuring minimal loss.

The sea breeze gently blew through Sheng Jingyu’s long hair, and she began sorting her thoughts.

But after just a few steps, she noticed a picnic blanket under a foxtail palm tree, someone lying on it, knees pressing against the soft fabric, lively legs swinging freely.

The surrounding colors were light, only the cascading long hair dark as ink.

Perhaps tousled by the wind for a while, the hair looked somewhat messy, two strands tangled together, dividing the once-clear profile into two, half-hidden, half-revealed, delicately outlined by the sunlight.

Those rosy lips, pressed by a small stick, bore a slight dent, glossy with a hint of sweetness.

Lu Zhao didn’t notice anyone approaching, a lollipop in her mouth as she lay on the picnic blanket.

But she wasn’t just scrolling her phone or sunbathing; a sheet of music lay before her, a guitar close to her waist.

Lu Zhao came here to find peace, letting the sea breeze clear her mind.

But who would’ve thought, inspiration struck the moment she arrived, so she spread the picnic blanket and quickly jotted it down while her mind was sharp.

The seaside sunset glowed, the sun dyeing the cold sea a warm orange.

Lu Zhao thought this place was a beautiful scene.

Yet others thought she, sitting there, was the true scenery.

The sea breeze blew, lifting the skirt fabric from her legs slightly.

Her fair calves swayed gently, tracing light lines under the light.

Sheng Jingyu watched from afar, suddenly wanting to preserve this moment forever.

But she knew she couldn’t, so she stepped forward, wanting to enter this scene.

In the warm air, a cool shadow fell over Lu Zhao’s head.

She suddenly noticed someone, looked up, and saw Sheng Jingyu standing beside her.

Lu Zhao pushed the lollipop to one side of her mouth, saying, “Teacher? Why are you here?”

“Just strolling,” Sheng Jingyu answered calmly.

At that moment, a sudden gust of sea breeze blew Lu Zhao’s loose hair into a mess.

Sheng Jingyu noticed the state of Lu Zhao’s hair, thinking she must have endured such winds many times already.

Why not tie it up?

Sheng Jingyu slightly furrowed her brow, “Why not tie your hair up?”

Lu Zhao didn’t care, “It’s fine… pfft, pfft, pfft.”

But before her careless words finished, the wind-tossed hair fell into her mouth.

Somewhat flustered.

Sheng Jingyu looked and asked, “Where’s your hair tie?”

“Probably in my pocket. Didn’t pay much attention,” Lu Zhao’s focus was on her music sheet, her reply casual, not noticing Sheng Jingyu’s shadow leaning closer after her words.

The skirt’s pocket was at her waist, and a cool touch fell without warning.

The tall shadow enveloped half of Lu Zhao’s body, the coolness slowly turning warm, ambiguity suddenly climbing like vines.

Lu Zhao’s hand, writing music, suddenly paused.

Sheng Jingyu’s hand easily found the hair tie in her pocket.

Without gesture or sound, in the blind spot of Lu Zhao’s vision, she threaded her fingers, just warmed by her waist, through her hair.

Those fingers, carrying her body’s warmth, gently grazed her scalp.

Time slowed in that moment, the scent of green grapes falling on Lu Zhao’s slightly parted lips, a scent unique to Sheng Jingyu.

Thump, thump…

The heartbeat from the pool water pulsed again through the sand under the picnic blanket.

This rhythm left Lu Zhao somewhat at a loss, her suppressed gland faintly itching.

Finally, the black hair tie bound the long hair, neatly tying it together.

Sheng Jingyu unhurriedly withdrew her shadow from Lu Zhao, saying, “Done.”

As if the sunset was too dazzling, Lu Zhao’s eyes flickered, “Thanks, Teacher.”

“You’re welcome,” Sheng Jingyu gestured, then added a nickname, “Lazybones.”

Hearing this, Lu Zhao smiled.

She knelt up, touching her other pocket, wanting to share a candy with Sheng Jingyu.

But before she could take it out, Sheng Jingyu’s shadow suddenly enveloped her again.

Sheng Jingyu couldn’t make a sound, only a hoarse noise from the urgency of the moment.

A rough sensation brushed Lu Zhao’s ear, then she felt a light force protectively shielding her.

Then, a large swath of green fell chaotically from Lu Zhao’s vision, unexpectedly knocking Sheng Jingyu, who shielded her, into her arms.