I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 3

Song Tai had just stepped out of the bathroom, smoothing down her skirt and adjusting the collar of her blouse.

“I’m sorry.” The girl immediately stood before her with downcast eyes, her expression full of remorse and dejection, as if she knew she had done something wrong—her puppy-like ears practically drooping.

She tentatively raised her hand, as if to take Song Tai’s, then let it fall again, finally clutching nervously at her own sleeve.

Song Tai wasn’t some irredeemable villain. Seeing a girl look so pitiful, she couldn’t just remain indifferent.

Especially since she had been the one to initiate things earlier.

Whatever.

Song Tai turned her head away, muttering unhappily, “It’s fine.”

But a vague irritation still lingered in her chest. She prided herself on her romantic experience, yet just now, she had been utterly flustered by a girl barely in her twenties.

Qu Fengyue, however, seemed completely oblivious. She took a step forward, her eyes bright as she gazed at Song Tai and called out, “Jiejie.”

Song Tai: “Hmm?”

Qu Fengyue carefully weighed her words before asking, hesitantly, “Then… can I still walk you home?”

Song Tai studied her in silence, not answering.

The distance between them was so close that she could feel the girl’s breath falter and slow in response to her silence.

Like a hummingbird mid-flight, its wings fluttering wildly in the air, emitting a nervous, uneasy hum.

It gave Song Tai a long-lost sense of control—as if Qu Fengyue was entirely at her mercy, hers to shape as she pleased.

The earlier humiliation in bed suddenly vanished without a trace.

The corner of her lips curled into a faint smile. Just as Qu Fengyue thought that smile meant agreement, Song Tai reached out and patted her head, saying gently, “No.”

The happiness on the girl’s face froze, instantly replaced by confusion and dismay.

Song Tai pushed the door open and walked out without looking back.

With a petty sense of vindictiveness, she thought: When I told you to stop earlier, you didn’t listen. Now you want to walk me home? Not a chance.

Song Tai wasn’t the most patient person—she had a bit of a willful streak. She came from a typical single-parent household; her mother had already been divorced for as long as she could remember.

Perhaps out of guilt, Song Xuehe had doted on her endlessly.

And after marriage, Qu Fengling had meticulously arranged everything for her, taking care of her every need.

She was far too accustomed to others giving to her.

She thought, If I threw a tantrum at Qu Fengling right now, she’d chase after me immediately to comfort me, apologizing softly and sweetly.

But Qu Fengling was gentle by nature. In Song Tai’s memory, the only time they had ever argued was when she brought up divorce—and even then, it had been entirely one-sided. Qu Fengling had remained calm the entire time.

Sometimes, Song Tai even admired Qu Fengling’s patience and good temper.

Even though she was someone who thrived on novelty and excitement and had grown tired of the marriage, she couldn’t find a single fault in Qu Fengling beyond that.

Sure, Qu Fengling was a little dull in bed, but aside from occasional bouts of excessive possessiveness, she was practically indulgent toward Song Tai.

She was gentle and attentive, able to cook all of Song Tai’s favorite dishes.

Neither of them liked strangers in their home, so Qu Fengling took care of everything herself, never making Song Tai lift a finger.

Even when they had minor disagreements, Qu Fengling would sincerely apologize, taking all the blame upon herself.

She had done everything a mature, older partner should.

Yes, Song Tai had to admit—Qu Fengling was truly good.

But being good didn’t mean everything.

It didn’t mean she would love her forever.

Qu Fengling was wonderful, but Song Tai didn’t like her anymore because the novelty had worn off.

Was this what marriage was like? A monotonous routine, forever doing the same things with the same person.

It felt like stagnant water, incapable of stirring even the slightest ripple.

If this was the case, Song Tai didn’t want to continue.

This was the biggest reason she wanted to divorce Qu Fengling.

Because of this, her mother had—uncharacteristically—spoken harshly to her, saying that Qu Fengling was so good, yet she didn’t know how to cherish her.

Song Tai thought, perhaps she really didn’t know how to cherish what she had.

She still remembered vividly the scene from a week ago when she had brought up divorce—

After she voiced her desire to separate.

Qu Fengling had paused, then asked her sincerely and calmly, “Why do you want a divorce? Did I do something wrong?” Her tone carried a rare and genuine confusion.

Song Tai: “…”

Song Tai lifted her gaze to look at her.

The woman, not yet thirty, wore a light gray knit sweater, the cuffs rolled up slightly to reveal the elegant lines of her wrist.

Her long, black curls cascaded over her shoulders, her features soft and serene, her eyes focused intently on Song Tai as she waited patiently for an answer.

The scene was all too familiar, strikingly similar to their first blind date.

Back then, her heart had been filled with admiration for Qu Fengling, viewing everything about her through a rose-tinted lens—

She had thought Qu Fengling looked stunning in that knit sweater, her long curls exuding gentleness, those dark eyes appearing exceptionally tender and captivating.

If the partner was Qu Fengling, marriage didn’t seem so bad.

But now, meeting those same eyes, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of weariness, even a hint of irritation.

Song Tai smiled and cut straight to the point: “If we don’t divorce, I’ll definitely fall for someone else.”

“I don’t want to cheat.”

Her tone was frank and sincere, but the words themselves were cruel.

What could Song Tai do? She couldn’t control it—she seemed born to crave novelty.

She was honest about her feelings. She didn’t understand love that grew over time; all she knew was the thrill of the new. To her, feelings came first.

She had tried to make the marriage work with Qu Fengling, but the attempt had failed. It was as simple as that.

Three years was enough. She didn’t want to endure it any longer.

So now, she wanted a divorce.

At her words, Qu Fengling fell silent.

Of course, any normal person would have some kind of reaction to that.

Qu Fengling’s response was eerily composed, almost unsettlingly so.

Some of Song Tai’s past exes had even cried and tried to slap her when she broke up with them.

Divorce should have been far more serious than a breakup.

She clenched the tissue in her hand, even preparing herself for the possibility of Qu Fengling losing control in anger.

But to her surprise, after a long silence, Qu Fengling suddenly smiled and asked, “Have you already fallen for someone else?”

Song Tai was baffled by the question.

Before she could answer, Qu Fengling had already concluded that her feelings had strayed: “Caicai, tell me—who is it?”

Song Tai: “…”

There was no one.

She had simply lost whatever shallow affection she once had for her.

Marriage had been a whim. She had never seriously considered it—if not for her mother’s constant nagging, she wouldn’t have gotten married at all.

Qu Fengling had always been gentle, but this rare display of possessiveness unsettled her, stirring an odd discomfort in her chest.

Song Tai couldn’t help but frown, raising her eyes to look at her, not understanding why she was concerned about this.

She had thought Qu Fengling shared her attitude—

That while there had been mutual affection at the start of their marriage, it had never reached the point where either of them felt the other was irreplaceable.

That was why she could now calmly discuss and negotiate with her.

“I’m sorry.” Noticing her expression, Qu Fengling suddenly snapped out of her thoughts, forcibly suppressing the emotions threatening to burst forth. Her face carried a hint of helplessness. “I got a little carried away. After all, this isn’t a small matter.”

Before Song Tai could respond, Qu Fengling asked again, as if seeking confirmation: “Cai Cai, you really haven’t fallen for someone else, have you?”

Qu Fengling ruffled her hair comfortingly. “Don’t be upset, I’m just asking.”

“I’m worried our marriage might get complicated. After all, we’re not divorced yet, and I’m a little concerned about you. I don’t want you to make a mistake.”

Song Tai relaxed slightly, lowering her gaze. “No, at least not yet.”

If she had really cheated, she wouldn’t have discussed divorce with Qu Fengling first—she would have kept it hidden.

Besides, while she might be a little fickle, she wasn’t without morals, capable of outright betraying their marriage.

Her head remained bowed, so she didn’t see the barely restrained distortion in Qu Fengling’s eyes, as if something beneath the surface was struggling to break free.

When Song Tai looked up at her again,

Qu Fengling smiled, her expression calm and gentle, discussing the matter with her usual composure: “Since that’s the case, let’s take our time resolving this, alright?”

As if she didn’t consider it a big deal at all—her tone was almost unnervingly placid.

Song Tai nodded, staring into Qu Fengling’s eyes, vaguely sensing something off but unable to pinpoint it.

Qu Fengling’s reaction was too normal, too composed—far beyond what she had expected.

That suffocating sense of calm even made her uncomfortable.

Could it be that Qu Fengling felt the same way about their marriage—without any lingering affection or attachment?

But soon, Song Tai would learn the real reason—

Qu Fengling claimed they could take their time resolving this, agreeing to the divorce, but in her heart, she was already convinced Song Tai wasn’t telling the truth.

Not long after, Qu Fengling questioned her again, but this time, it was nothing like the calm inquiry from before—it was more like an agonizing interrogation.

After three years of marriage, Song Tai’s body was intimately familiar with Qu Fengling’s touch, leaving her almost defenseless as Qu Fengling teased her into arousal.

Under the dim light, Qu Fengling held her from behind, her usually gentle eyes now carrying a hint of obsession as she relentlessly pressed for an answer—demanding to know who it was.

Who Song Tai liked now.

A faint realization dawned on Song Tai—this was Qu Fengling’s true nature. The gentleness had been a facade, and now that mask had been torn away, revealing the dark, possessive core beneath.

Like the pale, pristine cap of a mushroom, beneath which dark, toxic spores slowly unfurled in a suffocating mist.

Song Tai trembled all over, yet couldn’t control the shameful reactions of her body, completely at the mercy of Qu Fengling’s fingers.

Finally, pushed to her limit, Song Tai grabbed her wrist to stop her, anger making her words reckless: “Why do you care who I like? It’s definitely not you, anyway.”

That night, Song Tai unilaterally erupted into a fierce argument with her, and they parted on bad terms.

Then, the very next day, Song Tai received news that Qu Fengling had died in a car accident.

It happened so fast it left her reeling.

She felt dazed.

She wanted a divorce from Qu Fengling, and vaguely sensed that Qu Fengling didn’t actually want to divorce her.

But she had never wanted Qu Fengling to die.

She thought there was room for negotiation, just as Qu Fengling had said.

The car accident was clearly just that—an accident. There was surveillance footage, eyewitnesses, a complete chain of evidence, and clear liability. Yet, an indistinct feeling took root in her heart: she bore a significant share of the responsibility for Qu Fengling’s death.

The car crash was merely the surface. Her careless words were the true culprit.

It was a subtle act of revenge—Qu Fengling wanted her to remember her, even if it had to be through death.

…

Song Tai snapped out of her thoughts and shivered. The early spring air wasn’t particularly warm.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed her lower back—the kneeling posture earlier had left her waist feeling weak and sore.

Looking up, she realized she had already reached her apartment complex. Distractedly, she pressed the elevator button.

Just as the doors were halfway closed, they slid open again. Raising her eyes, she saw a woman already standing inside.

The woman appeared to be around her age, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans. The hoodie bore what looked like a band logo. She had long legs, a slender waist, and a pale, delicate neck adorned with a black leather choker.

Her hair, a dark bluish-black, reached just past her collarbones, loosely tied at the back. Her features were sharp, with clean, defined brows.

A new face.

That was Song Tai’s first thought.

She and Qu Fengling had lived here for three years, and she’d crossed paths with most of the building’s residents at some point.

But this woman—she had never seen her before.

The woman had been leaning lazily against the elevator wall, scrolling through her phone with disinterest. At the sound of the doors opening, she looked up, faintly annoyed.

But when her gaze landed on Song Tai’s face, it froze—a flicker of admiration flashing in her eyes.

As Song Tai moved to press the floor button, the woman suddenly pocketed her phone. Taking advantage of her height, she reached out first, as if to help.

Yet just before her finger touched the button, she turned to Song Tai, her eyes questioning.

Their gazes met. Song Tai noticed the woman’s striking eye color—lighter than most, with monolids and elongated outer corners. A muted, ashy brown, slightly hooded, lending her an aloof, almost world-weary air.

But now, the woman’s cool, indifferent expression softened abruptly. She smiled.

The smile revealed a faint dimple on her cheek—a stark contrast to her earlier demeanor.

Even her voice carried a newfound sincerity:

“Which floor do you live on?”

She asked Song Tai.