Chapter 12

How could a woman admit she couldn't do it?

Yan Qingqiu placed the measuring tape on her, her hands trembling with nerves.

"What's the number?" Song Qingre asked.

Yan Qingqiu shot back, "Can't you read it yourself?"

"Mm, my eyes are pretty bad. Read it out for me, please."

They were so close that even the slightest movement rustled the air between them. The scent blooming between them grew headier by the second. Song Qingre rested a hand on her shoulder and asked, puzzled, "Why are you sweating? Scared?"

"I... it's hot." Yan Qingqiu's fingers trembled as she read the measurement. "81C... no, 123..." Wait, she needed more numbers. "Don't move."

"Okay." Song Qingre stayed perfectly still.

Yan Qingqiu rattled off the number the moment the tape fell into place, then hurriedly added, "See, I told you—you're not as good as an omega like this—" She yanked the measuring tape away, but Song Qingre was quicker, catching her hand and cutting her off. "You're terrible."

What did I do?

Yan Qingqiu stared at her.

"You knew measuring it this way wouldn't be accurate, and you still did it. Tsk." Song Qingre sighed, soft and teasing. "Your friend's a costume design director—you two must have measured countless times. And you still deliberately played dumb with me. Planning to pull that trick again next time?"

"The measurements are right there. What nonsense are you spouting?" Yan Qingqiu frowned. "What do you take me for? I've never measured with her."

Wasn't this how bust size was measured? She should look it up online.

This was deadly, absolutely deadly.

"Hiss..."

Yan Qingqiu looked up.

Song Qingre's gaze dropped slightly. "You touched me."

Yan Qingqiu felt like she was losing her mind.

Report the number, then she'd calculate it herself.

Yan Qingqiu quickly retracted the tape, clenched her fist, and said stubbornly, "The measurements might be perfect, but they're not in my ideal range."

"Fine."

Song Qingre tilted her body, forehead resting against the sofa, eyes fixed on Yan Qingqiu. Yan Qingqiu suddenly remembered Su Xingjie's words:

"When she looks at you, she looks at your face; when she looks at you again, she looks at your chest."

Yan Qingqiu couldn't take it anymore and looked over. Song Qingre started the car and drove carefully, merging into traffic within minutes.

There were quite a few red lights along the way, so the ride wasn't smooth. Every time they stopped, Song Qingre let out a soft sigh—not heavy, but stifled.

They finally reached the doorstep.

The butler stood upright at the entrance, bending down to open the car door for Yan Qingqiu. "Miss, dinner is ready."

Yan Qingqiu felt a surge of anger just looking at him, and she ignored him completely. He'd actually listened to Song Qingre and hadn't called to report back.

The butler was upset about it too. He'd been worried about Yan Qingqiu staying out at the hotel instead of coming home, and most importantly, he wanted them to reconcile!

The two entered the house one after another. Song Qingre said, "Thank you, Dong Shu. I don't have much of an appetite right now. You all go ahead and eat."

The butler said, "You've been busy all day. You should still eat something."

Song Qingre shook her head and went upstairs. Yan Qingqiu, meanwhile, was genuinely hungry—she'd been at the exhibition all day and had only eaten some bread with Su Xingjie at noon. She washed her hands, sat down to eat, but couldn't help glancing upstairs.

"Send some food up later," Yan Qingqiu said softly. "Don't say I sent it. If you mess this up, it's ten updates a day."

The butler shuddered, nodded, and carried the tray upstairs. He knocked, and Song Qingre opened the door. She glanced at the food and called down, "Thanks, Qiuqiu."

Yan Qingqiu choked on her food.

The butler slightly tilted his head, indicating he hadn't said anything.

After finishing the meal, Yan Qingqiu returned to her room and tossed and turned in bed. First, she felt uncomfortable in her body, wanting to rub her legs together. Second, she kept thinking about Song Qingre's expression.

She was hesitating whether to send a message.

Then Song Qingre's message came in.

【I'm so hurt by you.】

Those few words made Yan Qingqiu's guilt weigh heavily on her.

Actually, Song Qingre was truly perfect.

Despising a woman's figure was absolutely detestable!

The next day, Yan Qingqiu didn't plan to go to the exhibition. She thought she'd take advantage of Song Qingre being busy and sleep in at home since she hadn't slept well last night.

When she went downstairs, she heard the butler say, "Miss Song went in yesterday and hasn't come out since. Could something have happened?"

Song Qingre didn't leave the house all day. Every time the butler stood in the living room and looked up with a sigh, Yan Qingqiu couldn't help but snap, "Have you written your updates yet? Why are you standing there sighing!"

If Song Qingre hadn't eaten something, Yan Qingqiu would have suspected she was starving herself.

Was the blow really that heavy?

Yan Qingqiu also grew worried. At noon, she washed up and went to sleep. She was wearing little, feeling genuinely uncomfortable, rolling around and blowing cold air at herself, wanting to take off her clothes. She needed to ask the doctor how to relieve this condition and when her differentiation period would be.

Just as she was sending the message, the door opened. She turned to look.

Song Qingre was wearing only a sheer nightgown. Moonlight fell lightly on her, giving her a pearl-white, pinkish glow, and her face carried a hint of melancholy.

Yan Qingqiu's mind instantly recalled that question: You're about to differentiate into an SSS-level omega, and at this moment, your first love is lying on your bed.

Choose A or Choose B?

Yan Qingqiu went into full alarm mode, shouted loudly, and pointed at her with trembling fingers, "What are you doing? Who let you in?"

"I've been thinking for a whole day and two nights, and I feel like I'm too inadequate." Song Qingre's tone was dejected. "I'm an artist. Sorry, but I can't accept my own imperfection."

With that, she pulled out a soft measuring tape, pinched one end with her fingers and yanked it taut, the motion like holding a small whip. She walked toward the bed. "Come on, let's measure again, until you like it, until you're satisfied. I'm wearing less today, so it should be more accurate."

No, help!

Yan Qingqiu almost screamed it out.

"Don't be scared. We're just measuring sizes."

A picture instantly surfaced in Yan Qingqiu's mind: two women kneeling on the bed facing each other, long fingers pinching both ends of the measuring tape, their necks intertwined as they leaned closer, the cool tape falling onto the other's pale, fragrant body.

Winding, winding, binding the two of them together.

Damn, her body was getting even hotter.

When Song Qingre was a few steps away, she shouted loudly:

"Wait! You're an artist, not a model!"

"Hm?"

"Listen to me. Actually, I'm satisfied. Very satisfied."

"Liar. Yesterday you said I wasn't big enough, wasn't full enough." Song Qingre took another step closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheer fabric slipping off her shoulder.

Yan Qingqiu had never said that!

She raised her hand, flustered, and covered her eyes. "I was afraid you'd get cocky. I did it on purpose!"

"Then do you like it?"

"Yes, I like it very much."

"Then why are you like this..." That look was saying: are you scared?

Yan Qingqiu's feverish mind instantly cleared. "How could that be? Those were heartfelt compliments."

"Lust is lust, cowardice is cowardice. You can't mix them up."

"You're perfect. You're the most perfect alpha I've ever seen besides myself. You can't belittle yourself because of what others say. You are art itself."

Song Qingre listened quietly. Her dim eyes turned clear, carrying a smile and an indescribable surprise. She kept looking at her, and Yan Qingqiu thought she'd say thank you, even starting to feel a little embarrassed.

But she said, "Your praise moves me so much that I can barely hold myself back. No, I must do something."

"..."

Don't!

Song Qingre approached step by step. Yan Qingqiu kept retreating, her face growing redder. If she backed up any more, she'd fall off the bed. Song Qingre sat on the edge of the bed, two arm-lengths away, taking in Yan Qingqiu's blushing, flushed appearance, then said, "Are you in heat? You look like you're burning up. Let me help you."