A massive wave of guilt surged up, swiftly drowning out Su Yuqing’s previous self-examination and questioning about “personal will.”
She waved her hands in a flustered manner, her voice laced with urgent justification and remorse as she spoke again:
“O-okay, okay, okay! I admit it! That night, my head wasn’t clear, I had a momentary… a momentary lapse, I was the one who shoved that interview flyer at you! It was my fault! I apologize!”
Su Yuqing rubbed her face vigorously, trying to break free from the guilt and return to the core of the issue.
Her tone also grew more serious due to her urgency:
“So! That’s exactly why I need to know now, more than ever! Bai Wanxue, setting aside that night, setting aside that piece of paper, setting aside the fact that I was the one who introduced you to this—”
She grabbed Bai Wanxue’s slightly cool hand, her gaze burning as she stared intently at her, as if trying to see into the depths of her soul:
“You yourself! Bai Wanxue yourself, what do you actually think about ‘becoming an idol’? Do you crave the stage? Do you like singing and dancing? Do you enjoy the feeling of being watched? Do you… have anything you want to express, anything you want to achieve through this identity? Even a little bit?”
This was the core she had to clarify, both as a manager and as… a “guide” in a certain sense.
Su Yuqing could not allow a “genius” to walk a path that might not be true to her heart, especially when the starting point of that path stemmed from her own reckless action.
However, the response she received was deeper silence, and a gradually spreading, almost vacant mist in those pale red eyes.
Bai Wanxue seemed overwhelmed by her rapid-fire questions.
Her mouth opened slightly, her pale pink lips trembling softly, as if she were struggling to understand those complex words—”crave,” “like,” “enjoy,” “express,” “achieve”…
A few seconds later, that vacant mist gradually settled into a heartbreakingly pure bewilderment.
She lowered her head, looking at her hand tightly gripped by Su Yuqing.
Her voice was very soft, very ethereal, as if coming from a faraway place, carrying a childlike helplessness and the futility of trying hard to think:
“Wanxue… doesn’t know those things. Meow.”
Bai Wanxue raised her head.
The mist in her eyes condensed into tangible moisture, making her look fragile and defenseless.
“Wanxue only knows… it’s because Big Sister needs it… so, Wanxue has to go, must go, and work hard to become an idol. Meow.”
Her logic was brutally simple, and also purely heart-stopping.
This wasn’t for herself, but to fulfill “Big Sister’s” needs.
“Wanxue only knows…”
Her voice began to carry a slight tremble, the usual calmness showing cracks.
“It’s because Wanxue herself wants to help Big Sister… wants Big Sister to be happy, to be a little more at ease… wants Big Sister to be able to quickly, quickly get rid of that… that lousy job that makes Big Sister feel ‘needed’ but forces you to stay in that boring office.”
Tears finally spilled uncontrollably, large drops rolling from her pale red eyes, tracing down her pale cheeks, gathering at her chin, and dripping onto their clasped hands with a cold sensation.
“So, so Wanxue…”
Bai Wanxue choked up, unable to continue.
She just squeezed Su Yuqing’s hand tightly, as if it were the only piece of driftwood in a vast ocean.
And that “meow,” tinged with a sob, was as light as a broken sigh, landing heavily on Su Yuqing’s heart.
“Huh…? Y-you, why are you suddenly crying…!?”
Su Yuqing was completely flustered.
She had imagined many possible answers, but never this kind of breakdown.
The cold teardrops burned like branding irons on the back of her hand and on her heart.
Bai Wanxue’s tears weren’t for the hardship of training, nor for confusion about the future, but because… she realized she couldn’t give Su Yuqing the “self”-oriented answer she wanted.
She was afraid her “motivation” wouldn’t be accepted, afraid she couldn’t be helpful, afraid of disappointing “Big Sister.”
“Okay, okay, okay! Sorry, sorry!”
Su Yuqing fumbled about, letting go of her hand, then not knowing where to put them, finally clumsily using her own sleeve to wipe the tears from Bai Wanxue’s face, followed by a rambling apology.
“It’s my fault! It’s all my fault, Su Yuqing’s fault, okay? I shouldn’t have pressured you like that, I shouldn’t have been so impatient… I didn’t understand, it’s my bad! Don’t cry…! Please, stop crying!”
The more she wiped, the harder the tears fell.
Bai Wanxue seemed to have opened a floodgate.
All the complex emotions she usually suppressed or hadn’t even formed into clear awareness—dependency, anxiety, the helplessness of wanting to repay but not knowing if the method was right, the fear of not being needed—
all poured out with the tears.
She no longer made a sound, just kept crying silently there.
Her pale red eyes, soaked with moisture, appeared even more translucent and fragile.
“Shh—! Stop crying, the driver is still here! He’s watching us!”
Su Yuqing, both anxious and embarrassed, lowered her voice to coax her, feeling the driver’s gaze from the front seat frequently sweeping over them through the rearview mirror, making her feel like she was sitting on pins and needles.
Ah~ But sometimes, what you fear most is exactly what happens.
“Ahem.”
A deliberate cough came from the front seat.
Then, the driver’s voice, thick with accent, cautious yet brimming with curiosity, broke the suffocating tragic theater in the back seat:
“Um… Miss, sorry, let me ask something out of turn…”
The driver’s probing gaze from the rearview mirror swept between Bai Wanxue, who was crying pitifully, and the flustered Su Yuqing, his tone full of a citizen’s simple curiosity and sense of justice.
“I’m not trying to gossip, but… what exactly is your relationship with this young lady? She’s crying so sadly, did you… uh, have some misunderstanding?”
This sudden intervention made Su Yuqing’s scalp tingle, her cheeks instantly flushing red.
Just as she was about to hastily fabricate an excuse like “sisters having a quarrel” to brush it off—
“Master. Meow.”
A nasal yet exceptionally clear and firm reply came from Bai Wanxue, who was still sniffling, cutting off all of Su Yuqing’s thoughts.
“Huh?”
The driver obviously didn’t understand, or perhaps he did but doubted his hearing, reflexively asking back.
Bai Wanxue raised her tear-streaked face.
Although she was still gently hiccuping and her tears weren’t dry, her gaze bypassed Su Yuqing’s instantly frozen body, looking straight “at” the driver’s surprised face in the front rearview mirror.
In a tone mixed with sobs yet undeniably clear, she repeated and explained, word by word:
“Su Yuqing, is Wanxue’s one and only… Master.”
She paused, turned to look at Su Yuqing, who had completely petrified and lost all color from her face.
Tears welled up in her eyes again, but her gaze was startlingly stubborn, as if using her last ounce of strength to declare an unchangeable fact:
“And Wanxue… likewise, is only Su Yuqing’s… Cat.”
***
Inside the car, a deathly silence fell.
Even the engine noise seemed to fade away.
The driver’s expression froze completely in the rearview mirror, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes shifting from curiosity to extreme shock, and a hint of panic that said, “Did I hear something I shouldn’t have?”
Su Yuqing felt all the blood in her body rush to her head at that moment, only to freeze into ice the next second.
She looked at Bai Wanxue’s face, still tear-streaked yet filled with stubborn declaration, then at the driver’s brilliantly expressive face in the front, listening to the crisp sound of her own sanity snapping in her mind…
The world, it seemed, at this moment, with that crystal clear “Master” and “Cat,” had completely slid toward an irretrievable abyss.
And she herself stood right at the very edge of this abyss.
Beneath her feet was Wanxue’s terrifyingly pure dependency and declaration, while behind her was the cold scrutiny of worldly gazes and the impending tidal wave…