Does An Inferior Omega Also Have To Marry First, Then Fall In Love? - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: The Day of the Performance Was Also Fu…

The day of the performance was also the day of Fu Han’s routine solo departure. Ji Qingyu woke up early. Sure enough, Fu Han hadn’t returned. He didn’t know how long this cold war would last.

The entire room felt chilly and deserted. He woke himself up in bed, then got up to wash.

The living room was spacious and bright. Wang Sao had prepared sweet red bean dumplings and millet porridge, which had simmered all night. She knew Ji Qingyu had a performance today, so she specifically made easily digestible and energy-replenishing food.

“Eat more,” Wang Sao looked at Ji Qingyu. Compared to when he first arrived, he had gained some weight and was no longer skin and bones, but even so, the bones on his wrists were still clearly visible.

From Wang Sao’s older perspective, Ji Qingyu was simply too frail, which worried her a bit.

She once caught Ji Qingyu and Fu Han arguing. She had stayed late, and the bedroom door wasn’t properly closed. Fu Han, with his broad shoulders, pinned Ji Qingyu against the wall. Ji Qingyu couldn’t escape and had his chin cupped by Fu Han’s single hand.

Fu Han said calmly, “Where are you trying to go now? Are you planning to stab me in the back again, like you did in high school, and then pretend to be innocent and pure?”

“Ji Qingyu, you always look obedient, but you calculate things clearer than anyone else in your heart.”

Ji Qingyu didn’t argue, nor did Fu Han’s words seem to provoke him. His back was pressed against the wall, his head bowed. His light chestnut hair fell naturally, slightly messy on his shoulders and neck, making him look obedient. His skin was pale but lacked color. His gaze was slightly lowered.

His two hands were behind his back, his lips slightly pursed, his eyes unfocused, seemingly spacing out, possessing a sense of detachment from his surroundings, like a drifting plankton.

Wang Sao felt there must be some misunderstanding between them. A person like Ji Qingyu would be naturally liked by even small animals on the street. Only Fu Han harbored an abnormal hatred for him.

Before she could make a sound to interrupt them, the tense atmosphere suddenly shifted. Ji Qingyu stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed Fu Han’s chin. His slippers made a soft pat sound on the floor—swift and light.

He still wore the look of sincerely admitting fault.

Fu Han froze for a moment.

Wang Sao didn’t dare to look anymore. The lights in the room flickered. She suddenly understood that Ji Qingyu was not as weak as he appeared. He knew how to deal with Fu Han and was well aware of Fu Han’s weaknesses.

Ji Qingyu slowly finished the bowl of porridge, said goodbye to Wang Sao, packed his things, and left early.

When he arrived at the performance hall, the sky was just starting to lighten. Only then did he feel nervous. Bringing this unprecedented attempt to the stage—frankly, he wasn’t very confident.

He slowly recalled that the unique inspiration for the fairy tale motif came from reading in the school library during high school. Perhaps to prevent students from reading too many miscellaneous books, the school shelves, besides stacks of study guides, only held the complete, hardcover, bilingual Chinese-English collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

This led Ji Qingyu to read almost every fairy tale he could find in a very short amount of time.

At that time, Fu Han had just shifted his territory and claimed the library as his own turf. He quietly leaned against the windowsill, taking a nap, while Ji Qingyu silently flipped through books nearby.

Originally, the two didn’t bother each other, but Fu Han would suddenly lean close, drowsily looking at a couple of pages of the book’s content. At these moments, Fu Han was usually not entirely awake. When he turned a page, his pinky finger brushed against Ji Qingyu’s wrist bone. The subtle, fleeting scent of green plum emanating from Fu Han would start to deprive Ji Qingyu’s brain of oxygen.

“What’s so great about fairy tales?” Fu Han didn’t understand, his voice lazy, slow, and deep.

“Then don’t read it. Give it back to me quickly,” Ji Qingyu frowned lightly.

“Your taste is always terrible,” Fu Han stretched, randomly picked up an anthology piled on the desk, covering his face to block the sun. He then nudged Ji Qingyu’s leg with his knee, gently but steadily. He slowly said, “I’m tired. Read one to me.”

“…Is there one you want to hear?” Ji Qingyu sighed softly through his nose, opened a couple of pages. Fu Han didn’t say anything else and seemed to have fallen asleep. Ji Qingyu quietly took the book away and reached out to close the white curtain.

It had been such a distant memory.

Ji Qingyu snapped back to reality, rubbed his temples, and pushed the old matters aside.

People were already entering the performance hall. He secretly peeked through the curtain backstage. The very center seat in the front row was still empty, looking conspicuous among the crowd. Ji Qingyu watched for two seconds, then dropped the curtain.

Backstage was buzzing with activity. Everyone was in a frantic rush, filled with the tension and excitement of going on stage soon.

Lin Feng had a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey next to him. He was sitting on a low stool in front of the dressing table, going over his few lines.

Nannan was already dressed in her costume. Ji Qingyu had sewn the puffy-sleeved dress stitch by stitch from bought materials.

The other children were busy with their own preparations: some reviewing their scores, others facing the wall to concentrate.

For Ji Qingyu, this modest stage and a small audience—who might just be there for the gossip—represented the beginning of a project years in the making.

His palms were covered in fine sweat, making him feel excited, joyful, and fearful.

The inappropriate person popped into his mind again.

He wondered how Fu Han was doing and what he was up to now. Was he reading the letters Luo Sheng left behind? Or was he still working? If he didn’t come today, would he come tomorrow? Ji Qingyu wasn’t exactly hopeful; he just wished Fu Han would keep his promise so his heart wouldn’t always be hanging in the air.

More people showed up than expected, filling the venue, nearly a hundred. He reviewed all the details in his mind again. The process had been rehearsed repeatedly, and they were very familiar with it. Ji Qingyu gradually relaxed.

“The positions and dance moves have been practiced again and again, so don’t worry,” Ji Qingyu said, checking the time as the music started on stage. “No photography is allowed for this performance, so even if we mess up, no one needs to worry about a black mark on their history.”

Lin Feng tossed the whiskey bottle into Ji Qingyu’s arms. “Take a sip if you’re nervous.”

Ji Qingyu gripped the bottle, hesitated for a moment, leaned against the table, and took a large gulp. The spicy liquor warmed his body. He was choked by the cough, his eyes felt hot, and his cheeks flushed slightly. The alcohol made him a little disoriented.

The audience seating area grew lively. Light stacked on the stage, resembling a spotlighted gift box. The first act was about to begin.

“Did you hear? Apparently, Ji Ran’s brother directed it. Wonder if it’s true or not.”

“A show put on by a bunch of kids. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the gossip.”

“…”

“I’m curious to see how rock and fairy tales mix. Plus, if Ji Ran’s songs were really written by him, the ticket is worth it.”

“He’s married into a wealthy family, so why bother pursuing ideals?”

“Alright, alright, it’s starting!”

The light came down. Nannan walked onto the stage, took a bow, sat at the piano, and pressed the first key.

The bass hummed. The deafening sound system made the whole venue stir. Ji Qingyu, wearing a bunny-ear mask, strummed his instrument.

“That’s Ji Ran’s brother? Didn’t they say he was in poor health? Why is he playing the bass so powerfully??” Someone in the audience gasped softly, their gaze fixed on Ji Qingyu. The drumbeats were rapid, and the venue heated up.

“How does he also play the piano?!”

Ji Qingyu just wanted to do something he loved. He would be satisfied if people heard his songs. On stage, he forgot everything—it was just himself and the instrument in his hands. He was always calm at such times.

The audience gradually fell silent, holding their breath. Someone muttered, “Why can’t we take pictures? I really want to record this.”

“I’ve gone from a hater to neutral…”

“I’ve become a fan.”

“My god, he took off his mask. He’s so beautiful.”

Ji Qingyu silently reviewed the procedure. Everything was going smoothly so far. He had a few more songs left. If he maintained his state, he could complete the work well.

The plastic props and cardboard shimmered under the lights. Lin Feng came out, wearing a fitted costume, his hat covering most of his face, and let out a whistle.

“This person is so professional! Where did they hire such an expensive actor?”

Lin Feng possessed a unique gift, easily commanding the stage.

Ji Qingyu’s face grew redder. He finally felt a flicker of confidence and dared to glance at the audience. He saw someone in that empty spot: a person sitting with their arms crossed, their gaze scattered and cold, looking completely unconcerned.

It was Fu Han. Even with a quick glance, Ji Qingyu could recognize him.

His fingers began to tremble, causing him to miss a note. His heart was gripped by an invisible hand. He shrank his shoulders, and his back started to sweat.

Halfway through the play, Lin Feng suddenly stopped. He froze on the stage, his gaze fixed on the audience. Lin Feng’s eyes were like a searing brand. The audience looked confused, and only Fu Han suddenly stood up.

In the darkness, Fu Han’s expression was indiscernible. The light was dim, and a faint stage light refracted onto his face. Fu Han’s hands were clenched tightly into fists.

Lin Feng seemed rusty, rooted to the spot, unresponsive to any of Ji Qingyu’s cues. Then, he quickly jumped off the stage and tried to leave. Nannan shouted on stage, trying to stop him. Ji Qingyu was also caught off guard by the sudden change.

The audience gasped in surprise. Ji Qingyu’s piano playing was discordant. Everything was like a domino effect: once the first piece fell, it was irreversible.

Ji Qingyu was still bewildered. Lin Feng was rushing toward the exit but was seized firmly by Fu Han in a large stride.

Fu Han’s eyes were dangerously focused, seeming enraged. In an instant, he started to laugh. Ji Qingyu stopped playing. The scene was chaotic, but he could only focus on Fu Han’s hand—the one hanging by his side was uncontrollably trembling.

Lin Feng’s face was ashen. Fu Han roughly ripped off the wide denim hat, revealing his entire face. His hair was messy, stuck to his forehead, and his eyes were completely red, as if on fire.

From the stage, the distance was too great for Ji Qingyu to hear Fu Han speaking. He squinted, watching Fu Han’s mouth shape. Fu Han only spoke two words, yet both Lin Feng and Ji Qingyu froze simultaneously. The bone-chilling cold consumed Ji Qingyu. The knot he had been unable to trace was suddenly yanked open, loose and precarious. Fu Han had said:

“Mother.”

How is that possible…

Ji Qingyu also stood up. His legs could barely support him. He forcefully leaned on the piano stand to keep himself from collapsing on the spot.