I Don't Want to Have Little Mushrooms with You - Chapter 35

After delivering her words, Song Tai didn’t wait for a response before immediately standing up and leaving.

The other band members had witnessed Song Tai and Qu Lingyue’s intimate closeness just moments ago, and they had instinctively averted their gazes, consciously giving the two women space. Yet, only a few minutes had passed—how could things have changed so drastically?

Seeing Song Tai suddenly rise to leave, they were stunned. They wanted to stop her, but hesitated, unsure if they should.

The group immediately turned to look at Qu Lingyue. Song Tai had already pushed open the door and left, but Qu Lingyue remained seated, motionless, lost in thought, making no move to chase after her.

Only after Song Tai stepped out of the villa did she finally feel a sense of relief wash over her.

She texted Wang Luo.

Wang Luo immediately replied that her car was parked across the street, waiting for her.

Song Tai looked up and saw not only Wang Luo but also Chen Ling standing beside the car, both waiting for her.

Wang Luo glared at Chen Ling with obvious displeasure, her expression sour.

Chen Ling’s expression remained cold.

The two women stood in silence, the atmosphere tense and unpleasant.

But the moment Song Tai approached, they both turned to look at her, their faces simultaneously breaking into smiles.

Perhaps it was just an illusion, but as they turned their heads in unison, they seemed eerily similar.

Despite their distinct appearances and temperaments, for that fleeting moment, they were strikingly alike.

Maybe it’s their eyes, Song Tai couldn’t help but think.

But the next instant, that resemblance vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

Song Tai shook herself out of her daze.

Wang Luo waved enthusiastically at her. “Cai Cai!”

Chen Ling’s gaze lingered briefly on Song Tai’s lips before she calmly withdrew it. “How was it? Did you have fun?”

Wang Luo was more direct. “Why didn’t that annoying person see you off? She’s worse than me! She might as well just come back as a cat…”

Chen Ling gave her a quiet look.

Wang Luo reluctantly huffed and swallowed the rest of her words.

Chen Ling opened the car door for Song Tai. “Cai Cai, take the passenger seat.”

Song Tai instinctively obeyed, as she usually sat in the passenger seat when Chen Ling drove.

Wang Luo: “No way! I want the passenger seat.”

Some couples place special importance on the passenger seat, seeing it as a small romantic gesture. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Song Tai smiled, paused, and turned to sit in the back.

But just as she settled in, Wang Luo immediately changed her mind again: “I want to sit in the back too! I want to sit with Cai Cai.”

Chen Ling: “……”

Wang Luo deliberately ignored her glare, happily snuggling up to Song Tai.

As soon as Wang Luo sat down, she suddenly stared at Song Tai’s lips, tilting her head for a closer look.

Song Tai didn’t notice, still preoccupied with what had just happened. To be honest, her actions had been impulsive.

Qu Lingyue’s mere words were enough to make anyone dislike her, despite her undeniable stage presence.

Now that the initial satisfaction had faded, Song Tai couldn’t help but worry about the consequences.

She wanted Qu Lingyue to suffer a little, but she didn’t want to ruin her career.

On one hand, it was just a photo with no caption—as ambiguous as Qu Lingyue’s own words to her during the tour.

Although the two were standing close, their proximity could be interpreted as either romantic or platonic.

If Qu Lingyue offered a simple explanation afterward, even those who harbored suspicions would likely dismiss it. After all, Qu Lingyue had a rich romantic history—what was one slightly ambiguous photo? It wasn’t an official announcement.

Yet Song Tai couldn’t help but worry. Fans were notoriously unpredictable; what if this sparked an unexpected backlash?

But as soon as she thought that, anger flared within her.

Qu Lingyue had publicly made vague, suggestive remarks during her tour without considering the consequences. Why should Song Tai have to?

The conflicting thoughts warred in her mind, leaving her distracted.

Wang Luo leaned against Song Tai’s shoulder, gazing up at her profile. Suddenly, her nose twitched, and she said in a displeased tone, “Cai Cai got kissed by a bad woman.”

Song Tai snapped out of her reverie, startled by the remark. She instinctively touched her lips. “Huh?”

Trying to play it cool, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

Wang Luo huffed and handed her phone over.

Song Tai glanced at the screen and noticed that Qu Lingyue had posted an update on her public social media account just minutes earlier:

I want to kiss you so badly. I want to kiss you. I want to go back ten minutes to when you kissed me.

The photo Song Tai had asked Qu Lingyue to post was nothing special—just a candid shot with no caption. Clearing up any misunderstanding would have been a simple matter.

But what truly shocked everyone were the subsequent posts Qu Lingyue kept adding:

I love you so much. I love you. I love you.

Is this enough? I’d do anything.

Just kiss me.

Fans commented: Lingling, has your account been hacked?

Qu Lingyue replied: If being hacked would make her love me, then yes, I’ve been hacked.

The fans fell silent.

The original photo Song Tai had asked her to post had caused no real damage. Even Song Tai, an outsider to the entertainment industry, knew how to guide and defuse the public’s reaction:

Simply prove that others were present at the time. With a proper explanation, fans would surely believe her.

Song Tai was merely annoyed at being tricked while she was confused and vulnerable. She had no intention of completely ruining Qu Lingyue’s career.

Qu Lingyue’s current actions were undoubtedly pouring fuel on the fire, instantly escalating the minor incident to a fever pitch.

Coupled with the photo she had posted earlier, her current remarks all but confirmed the nature of their past relationship.

Qu Lingyue even went so far as to fulfill Song Tai’s earlier desire for revenge, expressing her affection a hundredfold, a thousandfold, emphasizing her own vulnerability and subservience within the relationship.

As her posts gained traction, even her fans grew confused and bewildered by her simpering declarations, flooding the comments section with questions.

Yet Qu Lingyue showed no signs of backing down, continuing to post her simpering remarks relentlessly.

If the earlier captionless photo had been like Song Tai holding a knife to her throat, these new posts felt like Qu Lingyue seizing Song Tai’s hand and forcing the blade into her own stomach.

Song Tai frowned, momentarily at a loss for words. As a public figure, Qu Lingyue’s behavior was not only irrational but also suggested a precarious mental state.

Her finger swiped down, instantly refreshing the feed to reveal a new update.

Qu Lingyue: You saw it, didn’t you? I know you’re watching. I love you.

Frustrated, Song Tai slammed her phone shut, inwardly scoffing: With Qu Lingyue’s unstable mental state, wouldn’t letting her loose just lead to her biting anyone who crosses her path?

But what did it have to do with her?

She closed her eyes briefly.

A few minutes later, she couldn’t resist checking her phone again, watching the comments section refresh endlessly. She frowned in annoyance, hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “Chen Ling, let’s turn back.”

She couldn’t understand how someone could suddenly go crazy for no apparent reason.

But regardless, she had started this whole mess.

Here it comes again, that irritating feeling of being forced to take responsibility.

Fifteen minutes later, the car turned around and pulled back up to the villa. Song Tai stepped out and immediately saw Qu Lingyue waiting by the entrance.

Having mentally prepared herself, Song Tai took a deep breath, ready to have a proper conversation with her—at least to get her to stop posting such nonsense publicly.

Qu Lingyue’s expression was calm, so calm it was almost theatrical, like she was performing behind a drum kit on stage. There was even a hint of confidence, as if she knew Song Tai would return.

Her eyes locked onto Song Tai’s, and she feigned a hurt tone, saying, “Miss Song, I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

Hearing Qu Lingyue speak, Song Tai’s carefully constructed composure instantly crumbled. “What did you mean by those posts?” she snapped.

Qu Lingyue smiled innocently. “Nothing much. I just wanted to prove my sincerity.”

Song Tai retorted coldly, “Sincerity? You call this sincerity?”

“Of course,” Qu Lingyue replied. “Can I still prove it now?”

“I like you. I want to pursue you. I want to kiss you.”

Her voice carried a hint of grievance, yet her breath drew closer without permission.

Song Tai was already agitated, and Qu Lingyue’s unwarranted confidence only fueled her anger.

What made Qu Lingyue so sure of herself? Did she think she could blackmail me with this?

But what truly infuriated Song Tai was the realization that Qu Lingyue’s presumptuous confidence seemed to be having some effect on her.

She had to admit, Qu Lingyue had seen right through her.

Unable to restrain herself, Song Tai raised her hand and slapped Qu Lingyue hard across the face.

The slap landed with full force, the crisp crack silencing the entire room. All eyes immediately snapped to the two women.

Among the onlookers was their manager, who had rushed over after receiving the news.

The manager had little control over the band members. Most musicians are fiercely independent, and the members of Umbrella Fungus Band were no exception, especially Qu Lingyue.

Moreover, the contract between the band and the management company was loosely worded, leaving the manager with little leverage. She had no authority to interfere in the members’ personal lives.

Fortunately, though Qu Lingyue’s romantic affairs had stirred up considerable drama, they had never escalated into serious trouble.

Qu Lingyue was known for her playful nature, but she maintained clear boundaries when in relationships. Though she moved seamlessly from one romance to another, she never cheated or lingered after breakups, ending things decisively without leaving any room for reconciliation.

In fact, she remained remarkably consistent:

Even when the Umbrella Fungus Band was still relatively unknown, Qu Lingyue openly pursued relationships. Now that the band had achieved massive popularity, she continued to date without hesitation.

Over time, this behavior solidified into a persona.

This imperfect, slightly flawed persona—one that skirted moral boundaries without crossing them—was ideal.

Fans were highly tolerant of such a character, showing strong loyalty. If Qu Lingyue faced relationship issues again, they would likely tease her playfully rather than condemn her.

Moreover, this flawed persona felt more authentic than a flawless one, making fans more willing to support her.

As a result, her manager had grown accustomed to it: If she wants to date, let her date.

As long as Qu Lingyue’s talent remained intact, any temporary blemishes on her reputation due to romantic scandals wouldn’t pose a significant problem.

But this time felt different.

This was the first time Qu Lingyue had been slapped so mercilessly.

Song Tai herself froze, her hand suspended in mid-air, stunned.

Only Qu Lingyue, the one who had been struck, seemed unfazed by the pain. Though her cheek flushed crimson, a flicker of excitement flashed in her eyes.

Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed Song Tai’s hand, pulled her close, and kissed her forcefully, prying open her lips to bite down on her tongue.

Caught off guard by the sudden move, Song Tai instinctively slapped her again with her free left hand.

Smack!

But Qu Lingyue showed no intention of releasing her. Instead, she gripped the back of Song Tai’s neck, deepening the kiss.

The onlookers, still reeling from the first slap, watched numbly as the second one landed.

The two people trailing behind Song Tai wore grim expressions.