I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 34

A few seconds of silence hung over the venue.

Qu Lingyue offered a slightly helpless smile. “Alright, Mom loves me.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and a fan shouted, “This mom loves you too!”

Hearing this, Qu Lingyue didn’t respond as she had to Song Tai earlier. Instead, she bowed deeply, her smile vanishing. “Thank you. It’s time for the next song!”

Song Tai handed the microphone back to a staff member, still somewhat dazed.

Wang Luo, looking displeased, handed her phone to Song Tai and whispered, “She’s so annoying.”

Song Tai glanced at the screen and realized that the day Qu Lingyue drove her home, not only had they been photographed, but the entire journey had been filmed.

Because the car window was open, Qu Lingyue’s face was clearly visible in the footage, leaving no room for denial.

However, Qu Lingyue’s face had been deliberately blurred, leaving only vague outlines and side profiles visible.

The cameras had frequently cut to their seats, and they were sitting in the front row, in the VIP area reserved for complimentary tickets.

In other words, apart from the sponsors, most of the attendees were people connected to the band members.

Her face wasn’t particularly recognizable. The photos hovered right on the edge—someone who had never seen her before wouldn’t recognize her from the images, but anyone who had met her could instantly identify her.

As soon as her face appeared on the screen, many fans quickly realized who she was.

Song Tai looked up at Qu Lingyue on stage. Lingyue had already returned to her drum kit, the spotlight occasionally catching her face. Today, her hair was styled back, revealing her smooth forehead, with the ends dyed a pale silver.

As if sensing her gaze, Qu Lingyue, her expression calm, suddenly smiled at her.

It wasn’t her usual flamboyant grin, but a rare smile tinged with restraint and a hint of helplessness.

Qu Lingyue’s usual stage presence was one of cool detachment, a detached calm that radiated unwavering confidence in her own abilities.

This rare display of emotion from Qu Lingyue drew gasps from the audience, like witnessing the fleeting bloom of a night-blooming cereus.

Following her gaze, fans turned to look at Song Tai.

Song Tai remained composed, ignoring the stares.

Before seeing the photos, she had dismissed Qu Lingyue’s earlier behavior as merely a lack of boundaries.

But after seeing the photos, she finally understood the true purpose behind Qu Lingyue’s words and expressions.

Just as a public confession or proposal can increase the chances of success in an uncertain relationship, because the person being confessed to or proposed to is more likely to soften and agree hastily, not wanting to embarrass the person in front of them by rejecting them in front of everyone.

But this was nothing more than coercion through public pressure.

That’s exactly what Qu Lingyue had been doing.

Yet, upon closer examination, Qu Lingyue hadn’t actually said anything concrete. She had merely used a cleverly ambiguous phrase: “someone important to me.”

While claiming the person was “important,” the term was so vague and ambiguous that it could be easily dismantled.

Was it a close friendship? Or a romantic entanglement?

To onlookers, Qu Lingyue’s attitude clearly suggested the latter.

Yet their relationship was far from reaching that level, barely qualifying as friendship.

Whether Song Tai vaguely agreed with Qu Lingyue’s implication or flatly denied it, both felt like traps.

Agreeing would be tantamount to acknowledging the ambiguity Qu Lingyue had implied.

But a direct denial, in front of a crowd teeming with Qu Lingyue’s fans, would make Song Tai—sitting in the seat reserved for Qu Lingyue’s friend—appear disingenuous for ruthlessly rejecting even that claim.

Qu Lingyue likely intended to exploit this dilemma, forcing Song Tai to hesitate and ultimately concede.

Song Tai belatedly realized that if she hadn’t blurted out that careless remark in her confusion, the situation might have unfolded differently.

Wang Luo glanced at Qu Lingyue on stage, then jerked her head away as if she’d seen something filthy. “Cai Cai, I told you she was awful! Just ignore her.”

“What’s this? A peacock spreading its feathers to show off its ugliness!”

Song Tai chuckled at Wang Luo’s antics, but her smile vanished as her gaze shifted to the stage.

She had never been particularly fond of Qu Lingyue, and the faint goodwill she had felt after Qu Lingyue helped her earlier had now plummeted to rock bottom.

As the tour was nearing its end and they prepared to leave, a staff member approached Song Tai specifically, inviting her to the after-party.

Wang Luo demanded indignantly, “Did you invite me too?”

The staff member shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Wang Luo huffed, grabbed Song Tai’s hand, and tugged it, signaling her not to go.

Song Tai didn’t agree outright, but squeezed Wang Luo’s hand and asked with a smile, “Then come pick me up after the party, okay? Is that okay?”

Wang Luo understood the unspoken meaning.

Song Tai was implying that she would only attend the party briefly, wouldn’t stay overnight, and certainly wouldn’t get involved with Qu Lingyue.

Song Tai: “Come pick me up later, okay?”

“Fine,” Wang Luo finally relented, reluctantly releasing her hand and watching her follow the staff member backstage.

The after-party was held in the basement of a small villa, sparsely furnished with musical instruments, a recording studio, and even a small stage.

This appeared to be the Umbrella Fungus Band’s usual practice space.

The lead guitarist chuckled, “Lingyue has mentioned you so many times, saying her neighbor Miss Song is just adorable.”

“Yeah, Lingyue never stops talking about you. My ears are practically calloused from hearing about you! Finally, I get to meet you,” the bassist chimed in.

Song Tai offered a polite smile but remained silent.

Qu Lingyue tactfully intervened, “Alright, enough! Do you have to air all my embarrassing stories?”

Song Tai lowered her gaze, picked up her water glass, and calmly took a sip.

Seizing the moment, the group began improvising music using the instruments and stage. They started playing “Three-Chord Songs,” creating spontaneous melodies.

The band members were all skilled, but Qu Lingyue’s stage presence was undeniably stronger. Without her charisma, the band likely wouldn’t have achieved its current popularity.

In fact, the other members had always lived in Qu Lingyue’s shadow. If they were to break away, they might even achieve greater individual success.

Yet, they willingly remained in her shadow. The fundamental reason was their shared passion for music and their unique artistic pursuits.

No matter what else Qu Lingyue might be like, there was no doubt she was the best drummer.

With the best drummer right in front of them, they naturally wouldn’t settle for a second-rate replacement.

Drummers are often overlooked by audiences, yet they are indispensable to a band’s performance. Without the drummer’s steady rhythm, the entire song can easily fall out of sync.

Just like now, no matter how freely the band improvised, Qu Lingyue kept pace effortlessly, her rapid drumbeats driving their music forward.

Song Tai watched with keen interest from the sidelines.

As the song ended, the lead guitarist, who had struck up a conversation with Song Tai during dinner, noticed her sitting nearby and invited, “Miss Song, would you like to give it a try?”

“Then I’ll try this,” Song Tai replied, pointing to the drum set in front of Qu Lingyue.

The others exchanged amused glances at her response.

Even Qu Lingyue couldn’t help but smile.

Song Tai sat down at the drums and picked up the drumsticks.

Qu Lingyue stepped behind her, ready to offer guidance.

But Song Tai deftly avoided Qu Lingyue’s hand, rotating her wrist with effortless grace to execute a complex drum flourish.

Qu Lingyue withdrew her hand in surprise, smiling. “Miss Song, have you studied drumming formally before?”

It wasn’t that Song Tai was an exceptional drummer, but the fact that she could play at all was unexpected. Moreover, based on her demonstration, she certainly wasn’t bad.

Song Tai chuckled. “I haven’t studied formally, but I’ve played before.”

She added casually, “I can’t remember which ex-girlfriend it was. She was quite good and taught me.”

Qu Lingyue: “……”

Reluctant to be outdone, Qu Lingyue retorted, “So, who’s better—her or me?”

Song Tai paused, deliberately prolonging the moment for a few seconds before answering, “How would I know?”

She set down the drumsticks, took Qu Lingyue’s hand, and gently squeezed her fingertips with a smile. “I’ve only experienced one.”

It could have been about drumming technique, or something else entirely.

Qu Lingyue was momentarily stunned by Song Tai’s sudden softening. A smile bloomed on her face as she gripped Song Tai’s hand in return. “Then how do you know I’m not good?”

“Shall we find out?”

Song Tai feigned ignorance. “Hmm? What do you mean?”

Qu Lingyue, misled by her demeanor, replied, “Let’s part amicably. I’d never act like that person.”

“How about it? Want to give it a try?”

That person.

Qu Lingyue suddenly brought up Qu Fengyue again, though she didn’t mention her by name. Still, Song Tai was taken aback.

“Why?” Song Tai asked, meeting her gaze directly, her tone light and amused.

Qu Fengyue had genuinely pursued her, and regardless of her true identity, her feelings for them had been sincere and unwavering from beginning to end. She had even placed herself in a relatively humble position.

Qu Lingyue, on the other hand…

Leaving aside her questionable romantic history, she lacked basic moral integrity, brazenly attempting to steal Song Tai from her girlfriend even after knowing she was in a relationship.

And just now, she had tried to manipulate Song Tai in such a public setting as a concert tour, attempting to “coerce” her.

Song Tai saw little genuine sincerity in Qu Lingyue’s approach to relationships.

Qu Lingyue paused, a smile playing on her lips. “Because I like you, of course.”

She added with feigned thoughtfulness, “You don’t need to give me an answer now. The pursuit itself is part of the fun, isn’t it? Besides, Miss Song deserves my efforts.”

Song Tai chuckled softly. “Really?”

Qu Lingyue: “Absolutely.”

Song Tai suddenly leaned closer, their breaths mingling as their eyes locked.

Without hesitation, Song Tai suddenly kissed her.

The kiss was as light as a dragonfly skimming the water’s surface.

Warm, soft lips brushed against hers, a fleeting touch.

Song Tai’s breath ghosted over Lingyue’s nose before she quickly pulled away.

Qu Lingyue froze for a moment, then leaned in to chase after her.

But Song Tai suddenly dodged, wrapping her arms around Lingyue’s neck. “Give me your phone.”

She opened the phone’s camera and pointed it at the lens. Qu Lingyue stared back, her expression puzzled.

With swift reflexes, Song Tai pressed the capture button, freezing the moment in a photo.

In the image, Qu Lingyue’s head was tilted, her gaze fixed on Song Tai. The original confusion in her eyes blurred into an intense, focused stare.

Meanwhile, Song Tai stared directly into the camera, as if completely oblivious to Lingyue’s gaze.

Or perhaps she was aware, but simply didn’t care.

Song Tai shook the phone and smiled at her. “Didn’t you say you wanted to pursue me?”

“Then show me your sincerity.”

“What?” Qu Lingyue laughed, her gaze involuntarily drifting to Song Tai’s lips.

“If you want to pursue me, you need to show some effort. Otherwise, how can I possibly say yes?” Song Tai chuckled, gently stroking Lingyue’s cheek. “This photo turned out pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Of course it’s good.” Lingyue glanced at the photo in Song Tai’s hand. The two were standing so close, it looked like a couple’s portrait.

Suddenly realizing something, Qu Lingyue froze, a surge of joy flooding her heart. But fearing she might be mistaken, she asked, “You want me to go public? To post this photo?”

Song Tai smiled at her without answering.

But to Qu Lingyue, that smile was as good as a confession.

It was as if Song Tai had whispered, “Yes, I want you to go public.”

Qu Lingyue’s past relationships had been tumultuous, nearly all playing out in the public eye. Yet without exception, she had never been the one to initiate the acknowledgment or announcement of any romance.

While Qu Lingyue never denied the relationships, she never actively confirmed them either.

Her fans, far from being ashamed, took pride in this aloofness, viewing it as a testament to her irresistible allure.

Qu Lingyue had always maintained the upper hand in her relationships, treating her partners as mere stepping stones in her romantic journey.

This aloof, superior attitude toward love filled her fans with a sense of vicarious pride and a subtle sense of superiority.

That was why, when Qu Lingyue had expressed affection for Song Tai with an ambiguous remark during her concert, her fans had shown almost no opposition.

But what if the tables had turned? What if Qu Lingyue was no longer the aloof manipulator of others’ hearts, but the one being manipulated?

Song Tai gazed into her eyes and asked softly, “What do you think?”

“If you agree to my condition, I’ll agree to what you just said.”

Qu Lingyue had changed into a more androgynous outfit: a shirt and tie, making it even easier for Song Tai to hook her fingers around the tie at her neck.

Without hesitation, Song Tai tightened the tie, pulling Lingyue close until their breaths mingled. Her gaze swept lightly over Lingyue’s face. “Do you dare?”

This familiar gesture.

Qu Lingyue felt nothing, but Song Tai momentarily faltered, her mind flashing back to the lingering scar on Qu Fengyue’s neck.

An intrusive thought surfaced: If this were any other time, I wouldn’t be so decisive.

But having already been intimate with Qu Fengyue, she knew the limits. She could tighten the tie around Qu Lingyue’s neck without leaving a mark.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Qu Fengyue had already left her mark on her.

Almost before Song Tai finished speaking, Qu Lingyue tapped the send button without hesitation.

Then she tossed aside her phone, her gaze burning into Song Tai’s lips, her breath quickening. “I’ve done my part. Now you have to keep your promise.”

Song Tai released the tie, blocking Qu Lingyue’s approaching lips with a finger. She stepped back ruthlessly, wiping the back of her hand roughly across the spot where they had kissed. Tilting her head with feigned innocence, she smiled. “Promise what? Did I say anything?”