As Su Yuqing spoke, her voice took on a rhythmic, nostalgic quality, as if she were trying to summon the very ghost of that “toasted bread” cat into the dim, wood-scented corridor.
“It was so small back then,” Su Yuqing murmured, her hands unconsciously shaping the air.
“It used to wait by the door every day when I came home from school. No matter how tired I was, as soon as I heard that soft meow, all the pressure of my studies just… vanished.”
Liuli stood perfectly still, her blue ponytail a sharp contrast against the amber glow of the emergency lights.
She listened with an intensity that made Su Yuqing feel as though every word was being painted onto a canvas in Liuli’s mind.
“It sounds lovely,” Liuli said softly.
“A creature that exists only to love you, without any complex ‘industry rules’ or ‘contracts.’ Just pure, simple companionship.”
“Exactly,” Su Yuqing sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“But… as I grew up, things changed. That cat eventually passed away, and shortly after… well, the person I ‘manage’ now entered my life. It’s funny, in a cruel way. One cat was a source of healing, and the other is…”
She stopped herself, the word “nightmare” caught in her throat.
Liuli stepped closer, the scent of her expensive perfume cutting through the musty backstage air.
She looked into Su Yuqing’s eyes, her expression unreadable.
“And the other is a storm that you can’t escape. Is that it, Yuqing?”
Su Yuqing didn’t answer.
The silence of the corridor felt heavy, amplified by the distant, muffled roar of the audience beginning to fill the main hall.
The vibration of a thousand voices hummed through the floorboards.
“You know,” Liuli continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “maybe the reason I’m so obsessed with my art is the same reason you’re so obsessed with your work. We’re both trying to control something that is inherently uncontrollable. Me with my colors, and you with… her.”
Suddenly, the walkie-talkie on Su Yuqing’s belt crackled to life, the distorted voice of Manager Huang cutting through the moment like a serrated blade.
“Su Yuqing! Where are you? The foyer is full, and the VIPs are asking why the ‘Special Guest’ hasn’t made an appearance yet! Get to the rehearsal room NOW!”
The spell was broken.
Su Yuqing gasped, her face draining of color as she realized how much time had slipped away in the maze of memories.
“I have to go!” she cried, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Liuli, I—I’m so sorry, I have to—”
“Go,” Liuli said, her smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She let go of Su Yuqing’s wrist, which felt strangely cold now that the contact was broken.
“Don’t keep the Queen waiting. I’ll find my seat. I have a front-row view, remember? I’ll be watching everything.”
Su Yuqing didn’t wait.
She turned and sprinted back toward the soundproof corridor, her footsteps echoing like frantic drumbeats.
As she reached the heavy door of Chiai’s practice room, she paused for a microsecond, her hand trembling on the handle.
The silence from within was absolute.
She took a deep breath, composed her face into a mask of professional submission, and pushed the door open.
The scene inside made her heart stop.