I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 30

Song Tai turned stiffly.

Song Xuehe’s brow furrowed with a hint of fatigue. She was still wearing a well-tailored light gray mandarin-collar shirt, the mother-of-pearl collar button gleaming under the lamplight. Her sleeves were rolled up, as if she had just rushed home from work.

Yet an apron was tied around her waist, and she held a plate of freshly cooked food. “Have you eaten?”

Song Tai had already had dinner with Chen Ling. But when she met Song Xuehe’s gaze, she inexplicably shook her head.

Song Xuehe smiled. “Then come eat quickly.”

The dining table was bathed in a warm, inviting yellow light.

But Song Tai couldn’t focus. She glanced casually at the items on the coffee table, trying to discern Song Xuehe’s intentions. Her lips moved silently. “Mom…”

“Come, sit down,” Song Xuehe interrupted. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Song Tai sat down at the table distractedly, forcing a smile. “A little.”

Her thoughts circled back to the question: Why were these things here with Song Xuehe?

Did the housekeeper accidentally find them while cleaning and give them to Song Xuehe?

Or did Qu Fengyue’s neck injury get noticed when she visited Song Xuehe, arousing suspicion and prompting Song Xuehe to ask the housekeeper to keep an eye out?

Or, more directly, did Qu Fengyue confess the truth herself?

Her mind was in chaos, and she didn’t know how to react. She mechanically picked up her chopsticks.

Song Xuehe smiled at her. “Try this.”

Distracted, Song Tai murmured an “okay,” forced a smile, and picked up a bite of food.

Song Xuehe showed no outward signs of anger, but this only made Song Tai more uneasy.

Because this was her mother.

No one understood the nuances of Song Xuehe’s expressions better than she did.

Song Xuehe’s gentle tone didn’t mean everything was fine; on the contrary, it meant she was furious.

It was the calm before the storm.

The situation was eerily similar to the last time Song Xuehe caught her dating. With a gentle expression, she had brought Song Tai home, showing no outward anger. Yet she had ruthlessly confined her to the house for two months, forbidding her from communicating with anyone until she confessed her wrongdoing.

She managed to swallow two bites with difficulty. Having already eaten dinner with Chen Ling and feeling distracted, she couldn’t bring herself to eat any more.

Song Xuehe looked up at her, the overhead light casting long, creeping shadows from her lashes across her cheeks. Her voice was gentle: “Don’t you like the food today? It seems my cooking skills have declined.”

Song Tai’s fingers curled and relaxed. “No, it’s not that. I just can’t eat any more.”

Song Xuehe chuckled softly, saying nothing.

The atmosphere suddenly grew still, almost suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

Song Tai was about to turn away when Song Xuehe abruptly put down her chopsticks. “Since you’re full, shall we talk?”

Song Tai’s heart jolted.

It’s finally coming.

Song Xuehe set down her utensils and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Should I ask you, or will you tell me on your own? You know what I’m referring to, don’t you?”

The sword hanging overhead finally fell. Strangely, Song Tai felt a sense of relief. She parted her lips. “I do.”

Song Xuehe rose from the table, walked to the sofa, and crossed her legs. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Song Tai shook her head instinctively.

Song Xuehe smiled. “Then come here.”

Song Tai stood before her, head bowed, her thoughts a tangled mess. She stammered, “Qu Fengyue bought it because she saw a video on my phone and thought I liked it. That’s all. I never wanted…”

Song Xuehe frowned, dissatisfied with her explanation, and interrupted, “Tell me when this started.”

“Last week,” Song Tai replied.

“Anything else?”

Song Tai lowered her head and whispered, “No, just this. And we only used it once.”

Song Xuehe didn’t press further, nor did she doubt the truth of Song Tai’s words. This wasn’t because she trusted her, but because Song Xuehe already knew every detail.

This was Song Xuehe’s usual approach. Song Tai didn’t know how she did it, but she was used to it.

She dared not lie to Song Xuehe.

“I’m sorry,” Song Tai mumbled.

Song Xuehe scoffed. “Do you even know what kind of people are in this circle?”

Song Tai’s face showed confusion at the question.

“Do you know what kind of games they usually play?”

Song Tai blurted out, “I hadn’t thought about it…”

“You hadn’t thought about it?” Song Xuehe repeated with a smile, as if finding the statement amusing. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at the collar on the table. “Then what’s this? An accident? Curiosity? You promise it won’t happen again? Don’t give me that.”

“Once is enough to make it happen again. This time the collar was on someone else’s neck. What about next time?” Her gaze lingered slowly on Song Tai’s slender, pale neck. “Hmm?”

“It was just…” Song Tai wanted to say it was just an accident, that she never intended to continue, that it was merely a moment of curiosity.

But a sudden realization struck her, silencing her. A person’s boundaries can gradually erode.

At first, she had dismissed it as Qu Fengyue’s personal kink, and she had initially wanted to refuse.

But when Qu Fengyue wore the collar, gazing at her with docile eyes and willingly placed the chain in her hand, the surge of excitement overwhelmed her reason, clouding her judgment.

That’s how the subsequent events unfolded, born from panic and fear.

If only she had refused from the start, she thought dazedly.

Yes, she should have firmly rejected it from the beginning, instead of letting things drift…

Song Tai opened her mouth, but no words came. “I…”

Song Xuehe, already disappointed, gazed at her, unwilling to hear any more excuses. The smile had vanished from her face. “Come here.”

“Face me. Lift your skirt.”

Song Tai didn’t understand, but a primal unease gripped her. Her fingers curled and relaxed, and she instinctively obeyed, clutching the hem of her skirt.

Song Xuehe pressed a palm against Song Tai’s knee, forcing her legs apart. In the next instant, a sharp crack echoed as her palm struck the inner thigh without mercy.

Caught off guard, Song Tai froze, staring at her in disbelief.

Song Xuehe’s voice remained calm and gentle, even tender. “Baby, is this how I taught you?”

“Wandering around clueless, letting others lead you by the nose. If I hadn’t found out, how long would you have kept this from me? Hmm?”

“Would you only tell me when you had a collar around your neck, wagging your tail for someone else?”

“Answer me.”

Tears welled up uncontrollably in Song Tai’s eyes as she shook her head dazedly. “…No.”

Song Xuehe had never struck her, not even when she had committed the gravest misdeeds.

Song Tai vaguely remembered a time in college when she had secretly gone to a bar with classmates behind Song Xuehe’s back.

The bar wasn’t very clean, and someone enthusiastically invited her to a party.

At the time, she didn’t realize what kind of gathering it was. The person’s attitude was so warm and friendly that she followed along, bewildered, until she saw three or four people clinging together, their actions becoming increasingly unrestrained and crossing boundaries. Only then did she realize something was wrong.

In a panic, she called Song Xuehe.

Song Xuehe rushed over, her expression dark and furious. Yet even in her anger, she forced herself to suppress her rage, softening her voice to reassure Song Tai and tell her not to be afraid.

This was the first time.

The first time Song Xuehe had ever hit her.

The slap landed with a stinging pain, not particularly forceful but heavy with reprimand. It was as if Song Xuehe wanted to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

Still, the blow left Song Tai’s skin burning, the pain so intense she nearly cried.

A grown woman like her, still being hit by her mother. More than the pain, it was the humiliation that stung the most.

Her arms involuntarily lowered, her fingers loosening their grip on her skirt.

“Lift it up,” Song Xuehe ordered. “Don’t hide.”

Her voice dripped with disappointment. “Haven’t I taught you to listen to your mother? Hmm?”

Song Tai closed her eyes, her body tensing instinctively as she held her breath. Her palms were slick with nervous sweat.

Her slender frame trembled slightly, her eyelashes fluttering anxiously as she braced herself for the next punishment. “Yes,” she whispered.

Song Xuehe had an indomitable spirit; no one could make her follow, only others followed her.

But Song Tai… she had inherited none of her mother’s strong-willed traits.

“Why are you so nervous? Am I really that scary?” Song Xuehe paused, then chuckled softly.

Song Tai shook her head helplessly, growing even more anxious. Song Xuehe’s sudden gentleness didn’t reassure her; instead, it heightened her dread of the impending punishment.

“Are you really afraid of me?”

She didn’t want to cry, but her voice already trembled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

A gentle voice brushed her ear, but simultaneously, a sharp slap landed.

Smack!

Song Xuehe: “If you’re so afraid, then remember this well.”

Caught completely off guard, Song Tai froze.

The tender flesh of her inner thigh burned with a deeper, searing pain from the slap.

Song Tai couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. They streamed down her lashes, unstoppable.

Song Xuehe reached out to catch Song Tai’s tears. Several large drops landed on her palm, instantly soaking her hand.

She didn’t recoil. Instead, Song Tai turned her head away, avoiding Song Xuehe’s touch, tears continuing to fall one by one.

It was as if she were silently resisting Song Xuehe’s gesture.

Crying so fiercely.

Song Xuehe sighed softly, shook her head, and chuckled, “What are you crying about?”

“Are you crying over something so trivial? Was I really that harsh?”

“Or do you actually believe that putting a collar on someone makes you their Master?”

“Others won’t be so merciful. They won’t stop just because you shed a few tears. If you keep letting yourself be so easily manipulated…”

She paused for a few seconds, then smiled gently, as if helpless against Song Tai’s tears.

Her voice softened as she reached out to wipe away Song Tai’s tears. “Only your mother will feel sorry for you because of your tears, you know that?”

This struck a nerve with Song Tai, who instinctively thought of Qu Fengyue.

She remembered Qu Fengyue kissing her while wearing the collar, when Song Tai had believed she was in control, when in reality, everything had been dictated by Qu Fengyue.

She couldn’t push him away, nor could she escape.

These past few days, she had been plagued by nightmares and tormented by guilt for injuring Qu Fengyue, feeling compelled to take responsibility.

She had to admit that Song Xuehe seemed to be right.

Song Xuehe’s fingertips gently brushed across her reddened skin, concern etched on her face. “Does it hurt?”

Song Tai didn’t know how to answer, tears streaming down her face in confusion.

Song Xuehe’s forceful approach would only provoke her resistance. But against this combination of tenderness and firmness, she could only endure the punishment.

She knew she was in the wrong, and Song Xuehe’s words were true. Yet she resented Song Xuehe’s methods.

Why was Song Xuehe hitting her?

Song Xuehe sighed softly, cupping her face and gently stroking her damp eyelashes. “There, there, my baby. Don’t cry anymore.”

Just moments ago, she had struck Song Tai without hesitation. Now, her voice was tender as she comforted her.

The comfort only made things worse. Tears streamed down Song Tai’s cheeks, pooling into rivulets at her chin as she sobbed even harder.

“Why are you crying so much?” Song Xuehe held Song Tai close, one hand cradling the back of her neck, her fingertips silently stroking the small patch of skin until it flushed red. “My Cai Cai has been wronged, hasn’t she?”

Song Tai wept silently, her eyes closed, her fingers curled tightly around Song Xuehe’s collar as she pressed against her chest.

Even though Song Xuehe had struck her, Song Tai still subconsciously clung to her.

The gray shirt Song Xuehe wore was now soaked with tears across the chest.

The faint fragrance of Song Xuehe’s perfume wafted from the fabric—a subtle scent that could only be detected when pressed close against her. Song Xuehe had used the same perfume for years, never changing it, and it had become an integral part of Song Tai’s impression of her.

Every time she was sick, afraid, or praised, this scent had been present. Over the years, her memories had formed a deep-rooted association, accumulating into an ingrained pattern.

Even as she resisted Song Xuehe’s control, she still unconsciously obeyed.

Because this was the scent of her mother.

Now, dampened by her tears, the scent intensified, drifting faintly to her nose.

But for some reason, perhaps because she hadn’t been close to Song Xuehe in so long, the overwhelming fragrance made her feel dizzy and even sparked a strange resistance within her.

Song Tai clung to her mother’s embrace, her nose stinging from crying for an unknown duration.

Song Xuehe held her without complaint, comforting her.

When Song Tai finally cried herself out, she felt Song Xuehe lift her up in her drowsy, exhausted state, carry her upstairs, and gently settle her onto the bed.

As her body sank into the soft mattress, the scent seemed to be fading away.

Instinctively, Song Tai clutched at her mother’s sleeve, her eyes fluttering open. “Mom…” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry,” Song Xuehe said. “I’ll break up with him.”

Song Xuehe paused, then gave her a rare, approving smile, her lashes casting long, crawling shadows in the lamplight. She lowered her head and pressed a restrained kiss to Song Tai’s forehead, her voice soft: “My Cai Cai is such a good girl.”