I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 13

By the time Song Tai finished showering, the person had already left.

Song Tai could roughly guess who had knocked on her door.

At this late hour, there likely wasn’t anyone else.

Qu Fengyue was sitting on the sofa. Seeing that Song Tai’s hair was still wet, she eagerly offered to dry it for her.

Song Tai didn’t refuse. The moment she sat down, her gaze landed on several small boxes that had appeared on the table, each printed with a tiny rainbow logo.

A box of twelve.

It was the brand she and Qu Fengling had often used in the past.

She frowned but hadn’t yet asked when Qu Fengyue, her cheeks already flushed crimson, looked at her with wide, expectant eyes and volunteered an explanation:

“The neighbor brought them over.”

With that, Qu Fengyue stood up, picked up the hairdryer, and moved behind her, ready to dry her hair.

Qu Fengyue paused, her voice tinged with an almost unbearable shyness, as if deeply embarrassed by what had just happened, and suddenly murmured:

“She saw us, Sister.”

The words came out of nowhere.

Song Tai’s movements froze abruptly, her eyes instinctively darting toward the dark surveillance camera in the distance.

Qu Fengyue clarified: “When you kissed me earlier… she seemed to have seen us.”

“That’s why she brought these.”

Only then did Song Tai realize that the “she” Qu Fengyue was referring to was the neighbor across the hall—not Qu Fengling.

Qu Fengling was already dead.

Once again, she had nearly forgotten that fact.

Qu Fengyue wore a slightly guilty expression, hesitating for a few seconds before saying, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I didn’t notice she was watching.”

Song Tai met her eyes, knowing she ought to react, but her mind felt sluggish, numb in the aftermath of released emotions. “It’s fine.”

It was just a kiss, after all—and it wasn’t like they were at the office.

Still, as she glanced at the scattered boxes on the table, the gesture left her uncomfortable, as if she’d been intruded upon.

Just like the way that woman had looked at her the other day—with a predatory gaze, as if sizing up prey.

The image of those gray-brown eyes surfaced in her mind. She hadn’t liked that woman to begin with, and now the disgust only deepened.

“Stay away from her from now on.”

Qu Fengyue gave a soft “mm” in response, hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside her and asked tentatively, “Then… can I stay over tonight?”

It was too late—nearly midnight. It wouldn’t be right to send her home at this hour, especially since Song Tai had been the one to call her over on short notice.

This time, Song Tai didn’t refuse. She fetched a blanket from the closet and handed it to her. “Then you’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Qu Fengyue brightened, her voice lifting with excitement. “Really?”

Song Tai nodded and stood up.

She couldn’t see Qu Fengyue’s face, and so she missed the expression on it—the unnatural gleam of exhilaration in her eyes, the wide, almost manic smile stretching across her lips, like a predator lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike.

“Then… goodnight, Sister!” Qu Fengyue murmured cheerfully.

“Goodnight.” Song Tai walked into her room. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and almost instantly fell into sleep.

…

“She saw us.”

“She saw us.”

The room was quiet, the lamplight dim and tinged with an indescribable gloom.

Song Tai’s body felt weak, her nose filled with the scent of dampness—thick, saturated moisture, like the odor of something sprouting from decaying soil.

Her consciousness returned to the scene before sleep, where she and Qu Fengyue had indulged in the foyer.

She hadn’t actually seen anything.

It all came from Qu Fengyue’s descriptions, yet she couldn’t help but shudder.

The sensation of being watched was so intense that she fearfully raised her head, scanning her surroundings—only to suddenly lock eyes with a dull, ashy-brown eyeball.

Wedged tightly in the door crack, it strained desperately to squeeze inside.

The moment it noticed Song Tai’s attention, the pupil of the peering eye dilated with excitement, redoubling its efforts to force its way through the gap.

Song Tai slammed the door shut with force, successfully barring the eyeball outside.

Her limbs numb, she leaned against the door, momentarily relieved.

Yet the feeling of being watched didn’t fade—instead, it grew stronger.

Someone was observing her, scrutinizing her every move.

Song Tai froze mid-motion, disbelief flooding her as she stared at the wall before her, meeting another pair of familiar pitch-black eyes. Her body stiffened.

Eyes—everywhere! Dark, inky eyes! Qu Fengling’s eyes!

Like clusters of frogspawn, they crowded together, densely packed across every surface—the ceiling, the walls…

The grotesque sight left Song Tai speechless with terror. She stumbled back, only to step on something slippery and elastic, its texture bizarre—like a fragile water balloon. With a sickening squelch, it burst beneath her foot.

At an unnatural angle, the black eyeball abruptly swiveled to stare at her.

The slippery sensation beneath her shoe made Song Tai freeze. A dreadful premonition rose in her chest as she looked down—

Those weren’t water balloons. They were eyeballs. A whole field of them, crushed underfoot, oozing milky-white fluid.

Not just the ceiling and walls—the floor too! The entire floor beneath her feet!

Like the compound eyes of an insect, countless eyeballs swiveled toward her in unison, their movements producing a grotesque, squelching friction sound from sheer density.

Trembling, Song Tai tried to flee the nightmare, but as she stepped back, another eyeball burst with a wet pop, its sticky fluid splattering onto her smooth, slender ankle.

She stiffened, limbs shaking.

In an instant, the liquid transformed into slimy fungal tendrils, coiling around her foot and rapidly climbing upward, burrowing deeper…

She wanted to run, but her body refused to obey, rooted in place.

The mycelium had already reached her knees, mercilessly winding around her thighs, ensnaring her like prey, layer upon layer.

White hyphae wove into a cocoon, sealing her inside.

Song Tai struggled in terror, but escape was impossible.

The filaments, though fine and soft, were impossibly resilient. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t break free. The moment she created the slightest gap, they constricted tighter, biting into her skin.

But what terrified her even more—

The slick, icy tendrils gathered swiftly, like tentacles, methodically advancing toward…

Song Tai bit her lip hard. Though she had never experienced this before, her body reacted as if she had countless times—arching instinctively, legs bending, yielding…

Just like when Qu Fengling, before the accident, would hold her gently from behind in bed every night.

Her cheeks flushed, throat releasing a whimper. Tears welled in her dazed eyes as she stared helplessly at the ceiling, wanting to flee—but with nowhere left to hide.

In the end, she could only plead helplessly, calling her name: “Qu Fengling.”

Qu Fengling would always soothe her with the utmost tenderness:

“Good girl.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

But Song Tai knew she was lying.

This time was no different.

…

Her breath came in short gasps, her lips completely sealed, muffling any sound.

She had already lost all sense of control, her body overwhelmed by waves of pleasure.

Like a fish stranded on the shore, gasping for air, her body twitched weakly.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Rows upon rows of densely packed eyes turned toward her in unison, their malicious glee unmistakable, their gaze oppressive and all-encompassing.

The white mycelium tightened mercilessly around her skin, eager to pry her open once more.

Again and again, tirelessly.

…

In the dimly lit room, the flickering light trembled faintly.

Snow-white mycelium coiled around her in a binding embrace.

Fine, pale tendrils gathered cunningly, exploring her soft skin, searching for any crevice to invade—relentless, insatiable.

Time lost meaning.

“Ngh…”

Beneath her thin eyelids, her eyes darted rapidly. Her arched back tensed and trembled before collapsing weakly onto the damp sheets.

The white mycelium swiftly retracted, slipping back through the door crack, leaving behind a bed soaked in aftermath.

A few seconds later, Song Tai’s chest heaved violently as she gasped for breath, her eyes fluttering open.