I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 21

“Don’t cry, Jie-jie.”

Qu Fengyue kissed away Song Tai’s tears, but the gesture felt more like an animal’s lick than a kiss. Her tongue brushed against Song Tai’s eyelashes with a cautious, ingratiating tenderness, leaving them damp.

Qu Fengyue’s face was filled with remorse and regret. “Does it hurt?”

Of course it hurts.

Qu Fengyue’s bite had been merciless, causing Song Tai to tremble in pain and tears to well up instantly.

“It’s all my fault. I love you too much, Jie-jie. I couldn’t control myself.”

“Please forgive me, okay?”

As the pain in her shoulder gradually subsided, Song Tai glanced at Qu Fengyue, unconvinced by her words.

Qu Fengyue’s actions had clearly been deliberate.

If Song Tai couldn’t control her own physical reactions, how could Qu Fengyue claim she couldn’t control her hands and mouth?

Qu Lingyue had been right all along.

Song Tai had harbored doubts from the start. She had naively believed she held the upper hand in this relationship, which is why she had so easily entered into a relationship with Qu Fengyue.

Qu Fengyue had seemed like a little puppy, obedient to her every whim.

But what if one day Qu Fengyue stopped obeying, slipping beyond her control, just like she had done earlier?

Song Tai lowered her gaze.

Qu Fengyue: “Sister, please don’t be angry, okay? If you’re still upset, you can bite me too.”

But seeing Qu Fengyue leaning against her shoulder, pleading for forgiveness with such a pitiful expression, Song Tai unconsciously began to dismiss those strange details. She felt reassured; Qu Fengyue was clearly very obedient.

Besides, between Qu Fengyue and Qu Lingyue, she naturally trusted Qu Fengyue more.

Song Tai frowned, feeling a pang of annoyance at her own thoughts. “I’m not angry.”

“Really?” Qu Fengyue asked, half-believing, as she pressed closer to Song Tai’s shoulder, her eyes brimming with sorrowful, tearful affection. It was as if she hadn’t been the one who had acted out earlier, but rather Song Tai herself.

Song Tai pinched Qu Fengyue’s cheek firmly. “But you can’t bite me again next time.”

Qu Fengyue’s eyes lit up, and she instantly wrapped her arms around Song Tai in relief.

The wound still stung, and then there was Wangwang’s bite on her chest.

Song Tai pushed her away.

Qu Fengyue smiled, got out of bed to fetch the medicine, and began tending to Song Tai’s injuries.

Qu Fengyue had bitten her hard, but it only stung without breaking the skin.

Conversely, Wangwang’s nip on her chest hadn’t hurt much, yet it drew bl00d.

As Qu Fengyue tended to her wound, Song Tai idly unlocked her phone and discovered a message from Chen Ling, sent an hour earlier, asking about her injury and whether it was serious.

Chen Ling had also sent a photo of Wangwang, looking pitifully at the camera after having his cat treats and freeze-dried snacks confiscated.

Song Tai smiled and replied, “It bled a little, but it doesn’t hurt much. It’s fine.”

“He’s just a little cat. What does he know?”

Over the next few days, Song Tai didn’t see Qu Lingyue.

One day, while returning from the pantry with a cup of water, she noticed a lively atmosphere in the office.

It turned out a colleague was asking if anyone wanted to go on a field assignment to track and report on the platform’s promotional campaign effectiveness. Besides herself, they needed one more person.

The location was a venue hosting a concert by the Umbrella Fungus Band, a popular band whose pre-tour promotional work had been contracted to their company.

It was ostensibly a field assignment, but with all the projects nearing completion and minimal workload, it was essentially a free backstage pass to the band’s tour, courtesy of the company.

Several colleagues with light workloads were eager to go, but there was only one spot available.

Although the project had nothing to do with Song Tai, the colleague in charge turned to her and asked, “Cai Cai, do you want to go? If so, submit an application through the system.”

Song Tai settled into her seat. “What tour is it?”

“The Umbrella Fungus Band,” the colleague replied.

Isn’t that Qu Lingyue’s band? Song Tai frowned.

Hearing the key words, Qu Fengyue paused her work and instinctively glanced at Song Tai.

Song Tai met Qu Fengyue’s gaze, a faint smile playing on her lips as she turned to the colleague. “Thank you, but no. I’m not familiar with that band.”

She knew the colleague meant well, thinking she was still grieving Qu Fengling’s death and needed a way to move on.

But she didn’t need that.

Besides, what was so interesting about Qu Lingyue anyway? The mere thought of their last conversation irritated her.

That evening, Song Tai saw videos of the band’s live performance posted by her colleagues in their casual chat group.

They had uploaded about a dozen clips, ranging from ten seconds to over four minutes, flooding the group chat.

Thanks to the company’s partnership with the platform, they often received similar promotional projects. In the past, they had frequently gone backstage at concerts and tours.

But usually, they would discuss things behind the scenes: which lead singer’s backing track was too loud and heavily autotuned, revealing their off-key singing; which artist had a terrible temper, cursing fans during the tour and demanding the incident be kept quiet.

This was the first time her colleagues showed no interest in gossiping about such scandals, instead flooding the group chat with so many videos.

Interspersed among the clips were comments from two colleagues:

“This band is actually pretty good!”

“And they’re all so good-looking, especially the drummer! He’s so hot! Aaaah!”

Song Tai scrolled down, the thumbnail of the latest video featured Qu Lingyue’s face. In fact, at least ten of the dozen videos focused on Qu Lingyue.

After staring at the screen for a moment, Song Tai glanced toward the bathroom, where Qu Fengyue was still showering. Hesitating briefly, she finally couldn’t resist her curiosity and clicked on the video.

Is Qu Lingyue really that good? she thought, secretly hoping to find flaws.

I’ll see just how handsome he really is.

The video began quietly.

The spotlight focused on the center of the stage, unconsciously drawing attention away from anything outside its beam.

The drummer, positioned to the side rather than center stage like the vocalist, lacked the inherent charisma of the guitarists and bassist. Half-hidden behind his drum kit, he was even less likely to be noticed.

Initially, the camera focused on the center of the stage, capturing snippets of conversation between two colleagues in the background.

“Have you seen this band before?”

“I’ve heard a few songs, but never seen them live.”

But everything changed the moment the drums kicked in.

Crash—crash!

Two crisp cymbal strikes shattered the silence, instantly seizing attention.

The background chatter vanished.

Qu Lingyue, her expression calm, raised her hands. The drumsticks struck the skins, her drumming like the first pebble dropped into still water, sending ripples outward as the other instruments surged in to join.

The drummer, the one who controls the rhythm and groove, Qu Lingyue sat behind her drum kit, half-hidden by the instrument. Her fingers gripped the drumsticks as her body swayed gently.

The stage lights shifted, occasionally sweeping across her face, highlighting her calm features and distant expression.

Yet she possessed an undeniable presence that drew attention to her, making other sounds seem secondary.

“Stage presence” seemed like a vague term, much like “star quality”—impossible to define with words.

But upon seeing Qu Lingyue, one could immediately declare, “She has great stage presence.”

Despite the band members’ undeniable talent—the vocalist’s unique voice, the lead guitarist’s powerful expression, and the silent bassist’s striking looks—Qu Lingyue, seated calmly at the side of the stage, effortlessly commanded the audience’s gaze. It was almost magical.

The camera in her colleague’s hand, originally focused on the main stage, had unconsciously drifted to Qu Lingyue at the side.

Song Tai stared intently at the screen, motionless.

As the song progressed, Qu Lingyue remained detached, her arms moving smoothly as she struck the drumheads with steady precision, observing the entire stage from a detached perspective.

As the song reached its climax, a beam of light miraculously landed on Qu Lingyue’s face. The drumbeats surged to their peak, and her hazel eyes suddenly locked onto the camera lens.

Yet her hands never faltered. With fluid, precise movements, she continued drumming, the drumheads vibrating as she calmly drove the music to its crescendo, pulling the audience’s hearts along with it.

A dazzling drum flourish brought the music to an abrupt halt, leaving listeners momentarily stunned.

Across the screen, their eyes met.

Qu Lingyue smiled faintly at the camera, slowly tucking a stray strand of raven-blue hair behind her ear.

Though the music had ended, its lingering impact still made Song Tai’s heart race.

After a few seconds of silence, a colleague in the video exclaimed, “My heart can’t take this! Damn, drummers are this hot now?”

The video ended, and Song Tai stared at the screen, momentarily lost in thought.

She had to admit, Qu Lingyue was undeniably captivating in that moment.

Suddenly, her habit of cycling through five girlfriends a month seemed almost understandable.

Qu Fengyue was still showering. Song Tai glanced toward the bathroom, hesitated for a few seconds, then inexplicably saved the video.

She clicked on another one.

After her shower, Qu Fengyue lay down beside Song Tai, her skin still damp. She wrapped her arms around Song Tai from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. “What are you looking at, Jie-jie?” she asked curiously.

Song Tai snapped out of her daze, instinctively turned off her phone, and set it aside. Her heart was racing slightly. She turned to stroke Qu Fengyue’s cheek. “Nothing much.”

Qu Fengyue hummed softly, gazing at her. Suddenly, as if sensing something, she pressed her palm against Song Tai’s chest. “But your heart is beating so fast.”

Song Tai hesitated. She realized there was no real reason to lie. Although she could sense Qu Fengyue’s guardedness and hostility toward Qu Lingyue, she hadn’t done anything wrong—she had simply watched a video.

Is it wrong to watch a video?

But under Qu Fengyue’s probing, curious gaze, she hesitated for a few seconds before instinctively lying. “Just watching some videos from our trip earlier, like feeding the pigeons…”

Qu Fengyue leaned against her shoulder, her voice softening into a coaxing tone. “Were those videos taken with that person? Can I see them?”

Song Tai could have firmly refused, but her recent lie made her feel guilty.

“There’s really nothing interesting to see.” Song Tai opened her photo album, deliberately avoiding the video she had just saved. Her movements were slightly flustered, and her hand slipped, accidentally swiping to another video.

The video began playing automatically, filling the silent bedroom with soft moans and gasps.

Qu Fengyue’s head snapped up to stare at her.

Song Tai froze, speechless.

She stared at the screen. It wasn’t a travel vlog at all. The title was filled with suggestive words like “discipline,” “restraint,” and “master.”

Song Tai felt a pang of embarrassment.

But then she remembered that Qu Fengyue and she had already done everything. What was there to be embarrassed about?

Qu Fengyue’s eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed with curiosity. “Does watching these videos… make you feel anything, Sis?”

Song Tai hesitated.

Normally, these kinds of videos did stir something in her.

Qu Fengling was so dull, never even changing positions. Of course she had to find her own entertainment.

But this video was different.

She had saved it just a few days ago.

The reason? One of the main characters—the faceless figure holding the ruler high above—sounded eerily like Qu Chunjun.

Of course, she hadn’t saved it because it aroused her. It was purely out of spite.

The thought of having to visit Temple Beach every month made her grind her teeth in resentment.

Song Tai mentally cast this video’s figure as a substitute for Qu Chunjun, indulging in one-sided slander. Qu Chunjun, so cold and aloof, acting like she’s above all carnal desires. If she’s like this behind closed doors, it would be utterly hilarious.

She even felt less afraid now.

But how could she explain all this to Qu Fengyue?

Qu Fengyue didn’t even know Qu Chunjun.

Too complicated. Never mind.

Song Tai hummed in agreement, casually saying, “Yeah, it’s… pretty stimulating.”