I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 33

Song Tai had never had time to truly consider what Qu Fengyue was.

Now, feeling safe, she finally had the space to ponder these questions.

Why were there fungal filaments?

She had seen them more than once.

Besides her dreams, there was also the incident at Temple Beach.

If these filaments were connected to Qu Fengyue, why had they appeared at Temple Beach?

She couldn’t figure it out.

But she soon had no time to think about it anymore.

Song Tai developed a fever.

A mix of shock and lingering fear left her dizzy and disoriented. She collapsed onto the living room sofa and fell asleep.

When the housekeeper returned from grocery shopping and found her sleeping on the sofa, she tried to wake her to move her to her room. But when she touched Song Tai’s forehead, it was burning hot, and her cheeks were flushed an unnatural red. The housekeeper immediately called a doctor, who measured her temperature at nearly 40 degrees Celsius—a dangerously high fever.

By the time Song Xuehe returned home from work, Song Tai’s fever had subsided, but she remained drowsy, her eyes closed, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Song Xuehe sat beside her bed and gently touched her forehead.

Song Tai didn’t know when she had opened her eyes. She lay silently, her cheek pressed into the pillow, her gaze fixed on Song Xuehe without blinking.

Song Xuehe brushed the strands of hair clinging to her cheek aside and said tenderly, “My Cai Cai, why are you being such a little pitiful ghost today?”

Song Tai mumbled groggily, “Mom, I broke up with him.” Her fever-flushed cheeks burned, her thoughts muddled. She didn’t even know what she was saying, yet these were the first words she spoke, as if instinctively seeking her mother’s approval.

Song Xuehe praised her, “Good girl.”

Suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, Song Tai wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, buried her face in her abdomen, and wept bitterly.

“Why are you crying? Is the illness making you feel too awful?”

Song Tai didn’t answer, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed softly, her eyes tightly shut.

Song Xuehe cupped her face, wiped away her tears, and gazed into her eyes. “My baby.”

Song Tai rarely fell ill. Song Xuehe’s strict discipline had its benefits: Song Tai maintained a regular, healthy routine, having developed a habit of avoiding late nights and possessing a strong constitution. Consequently, even when she did get sick, she usually recovered almost immediately.

This time, however, her illness lingered unusually long.

So long that Song Tai lost track of time.

So long that Qu Fengyue vanished from her life without her even realizing it.

A true disappearance.

It was only when a colleague messaged her asking if she knew Qu Fengyue had resigned that Song Tai realized it had been over a week since she’d last seen her.

Perhaps because her illness had clouded her mind, it felt like much longer.

In recent days, she’d been too sick to think about anything related to Qu Fengyue.

Qu Fengyue hadn’t messaged her again.

Their last exchange remained frozen on Qu Fengyue’s final message: I’ll wait for Elder Sister to return.

Song Tai stared at the message for a while, unwilling to dwell on it, yet inexplicably unable to delete it.

Her prolonged absence from work due to her severe illness prompted colleagues to check on her.

Chen Ling offered to come and take care of her.

Even Wang Luo messaged her, asking if she was eating properly.

Wang Luo also sent her numerous selfies, almost one per day, his watery blue eyes close to the camera, his delicate nose and striking beauty undeniable.

These inexplicable photos kept flooding in. Before Song Tai could even ask, Wang Luo volunteered an explanation: “I know you like me.”

“Looking at me more will make you feel much better, okay?”

Qu Fengyue’s chat window was quickly buried beneath the deluge. Unless Song Tai actively scrolled down, it would be impossible to find again.

Qu Fengyue’s very existence was being swiftly erased.

At first, a few colleagues asked why Qu Fengyue had suddenly resigned, but soon no one mentioned her anymore.

If it weren’t for the few strands of mycelium Song Tai had kept, she would have found almost no trace of Qu Fengyue in her life.

Not even her own emotions.

Her fear of Qu Fengyue faded with astonishing speed, as if swallowed whole by something during her fever.

She clenched her fist tightly, the only action that could barely conjure a faint memory of the anxiety and unease she had felt facing Qu Fengyue that day.

But there was no fear.

The day after her fever broke, she received a call from Qu Lingyue.

Only then did she realize she had forgotten something.

Although she had accepted the tickets Qu Lingyue offered, she had later left them at Qu Lingyue’s house in her panic.

If Qu Lingyue hadn’t reminded her, she wouldn’t have even remembered.

And then there was the cola—the cola she had bought as an excuse to avoid Qu Fengyue.

The thought suddenly struck Song Tai, and she found herself chuckling at the absurdity of still remembering such trivial details.

Qu Lingyue, who was out of town, had arranged for someone to deliver the tickets to her.

The seats were excellent, but Qu Lingyue had sent over a thick stack of more than a dozen tickets.

Song Tai kept one for herself and posted the rest on her social media, asking if any friends wanted them. They were quickly snapped up.

To her surprise, Wang Luo proactively asked if she could have one.

Song Tai still remembered Wang Luo telling her last time that Qu Lingyue was annoying and urging her not to like her.

The two had exchanged contact information but hadn’t had a proper conversation since.

When Song Tai was sick a few days ago, she lacked the energy to respond to Wang Luo’s messages, which had been sent unilaterally.

Now, curious, she asked, “You like this band?”

Wang Luo immediately sent back a sternly disapproving emoji, blurting out, “Who would like this brain-damaged band?”

Song Tai paused, surprised. That…

Wang Luo: But I want to go with you.

Song Tai chuckled. Aren’t you busy with work?

She had asked Chen Ling the same question, but Chen Ling said she had work and couldn’t join her.

Wang Luo: Even if I’m busy, I can still make time to go with you. This message was followed by an emoji of a proud cat with its head held high, as if hinting at something more.

Song Tai felt a flicker of hesitation.

Wang Luo: Please, please, please?

Despite Wang Luo’s earlier claims of disliking the band, she eagerly accompanied Song Tai to the concert on the day of the tour.

Outside the venue, they spotted souvenir stalls displaying a dazzling array of merchandise, including massive light-up signs with flashing LED beads.

Wang Luo stopped abruptly, turning to Song Tai with sparkling eyes. “Do you want one? Do you want one?”

Before Song Tai could answer, Wang Luo had already pulled her toward the stalls. “I’m buying one! Everyone else has one, so I’m getting you one too!”

Song Tai opened her mouth to remind Wang Luo about the cost, but Wang Luo had already swiftly paid, specifically requesting the largest, shiniest light-up sign.

During the security check at the venue entrance, all the light-up signs were confiscated by staff.

Wang Luo was absolutely furious.

Even after settling into their seats and seeing the official fan support gift bags placed there, she remained visibly displeased, her face still creased with annoyance.

Song Tai was about to offer a few comforting words when Wang Luo suddenly looked around curiously, then leaned in close to Song Tai’s ear and whispered indignantly, “Why are they allowed to bring theirs in?”

“Good thing I have some too.”

She pulled a small handful of secretly hidden glow sticks from her purse and handed them to Song Tai.

Song Tai accepted them with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

The Umbrella Fungus Band’s fanbase wasn’t particularly harmonious. Qu Lingyue was the most popular member, but the other members also had substantial followings.

With such a large fan base, friction and disagreements were inevitable. Moreover, the anonymity of the internet allowed people to express opinions they might hesitate to voice in real life.

In the past two years, the Umbrella Fungus Band’s momentum had surged, attracting a diverse and often volatile mix of fans. This influx exacerbated existing tensions within the fanbase, turning it into a powder keg.

While the conflicts hadn’t escalated to physical violence, there was palpable animosity between factions, leading to frequent online flame wars.

When individual members of a band have overly distinct personalities, it often leads to this kind of situation.

Many fans weren’t there because they liked the entire band, but rather because they were fans of Qu Lingyue alone.

In other words, Qu Lingyue had a large number of solo fans.

A common phenomenon among fans is the formation of groups, each member having their own designated support color. These colors are concentrated in specific areas, as if pre-planned.

The areas representing Qu Lingyue’s color were particularly large and dense. At first glance, the sea of lights resembled a vast sky-blue ocean.

Curious, Song Tai examined the support items Wang Luo had handed her and counted them. Everything except Qu Lingyue’s was present.

Noticing Song Tai’s gaze, Wang Luo declared frankly, “I don’t like her.”

“Cai Cai shouldn’t like her either.”

The tickets Qu Lingyue had given them were excellent—front-row seats in the inner circle, right in the center, offering a clear view of the entire stage.

The downside was that during interactive segments, the cameras focused on them more frequently.

Perhaps because Song Tai and Wang Luo were both quite attractive, the cameras lingered on them several extra times.

Whenever Song Tai’s face appeared on the screen, nearby fans immediately turned to stare at her.

Song Tai found this rather odd.

Song Tai noticed a girl, who looked to be around twenty, casually glancing her way. The girl was seated to her right.

Song Tai looked back, puzzled. “……?”

After a few seconds of eye contact, the girl mustered her courage, leaned closer, and asked curiously, “Elder Sister, how long have you been with Lingling?”

“Lingling” was a common nickname fans used for Qu Lingyue.

Earlier, when Qu Lingyue took the stage, many fans had shouted “Lingling!” She had even heard some fans screaming hoarsely, “Lingling, Mommy loves you!”

It was rather amusing to hear fans who had just come of age calling themselves the “mommy” of a twenty-something adult.

Song Tai glanced at Qu Lingyue on stage, then at the girl’s expectant face, a question mark slowly forming in her mind.

Frowning, Song Tai asked, “What do you mean?”

Her question was answered quickly.

As one song ended, the interactive segment began.

Qu Lingyue held the microphone, her stage makeup accentuating her features, making her appear even more striking under the bright lights and stage presence.

“Someone very important to me is here tonight,” she announced.

The camera immediately focused on her, triggering a wave of screams from the audience.

Though fans of the band members often clashed, the band members themselves clearly shared a strong bond.

The moment Song Tai’s face appeared on the screen, several members turned to Qu Lingyue, offering warm smiles.

One member even joked, “Anything you want to say to our Lingyue?”

Song Tai took the microphone, completely bewildered. She had no idea what was happening. Looking up at Qu Lingyue on stage, she hesitantly mimicked the fans’ earlier chants, “Mommy loves you?”