Chapter 25: Well then, I’ll take your good wishes with me!
“Yeah, yeah, just doodling.”
The girl clearly didn’t buy it. The other three bandmates crowded over, eager for captain’s gossip.
“Stop gawking—prep! Ten minutes till showtime!”
Qin Qianlan shooed her chaos-loving teammates.
Backstage wasn’t just them—Reverse Thinking was there too.
She’d noticed their weird looks.
In open-minded Rongcheng, this wasn’t rare.
But niche stayed niche.
No matter how inclusive, public display still drew side-eyes.
“Sorry, Xiao Yaozi—they’re just messing.”
Qin Qianlan shot an apologetic glance.
Song Yao waved it off. “No biggie, Qianlan. Shows you’re close—they joke because they like you. Don’t blame them—no malice.”
Years as rented girlfriend—seen everything.
This? Sprinkles.
Central AC: client mood + bonus goodwill.
Sure enough, three melted.
“Xiao Yao’s an angel!”
“What good deed did Captain Qin do to meet her…”
“Saved the world, probably.”
…
“Can’t you say something nice?”
Qin Qianlan rolled eyes.
Bureau-chief dad, but no airs—easygoing.
One flaw: second-gen, clueless on “normal” stuff.
Ten minutes flew—showtime.
Qin Qianlan peeked from backstage—sea of heads. Nerves hit.
Two-year band—first huge crowd.
“Qianlan, relax.”
Song Yao held her hand, whispered. “I’ll watch from below. Win or lose—you’re always my top band.”
“Thanks, Xiao Yaozi.”
Nerves eased.
Deep breath—turned to team.
“Everyone, let’s rock tonight!”
“Rock!”
“Red Rose forever!”
…
Cheers exchanged—Red Rose took stage. Song Yao front row, phone recording.
Work task.
First big live house gig—worth capturing.
They stepped up—lights dimmed, stray beams twinkling.
Tap tap tap tap…
Drummer counted in.
Four beats—thunderous drums shattered dark. Lights flooded—stage a dreamland.
No intro—straight fire!
Strings danced—notes from souls.
Fierce drums, lively bass, leaping guitar, lead girl’s voice—filled space.
Crowd swayed. Band poured passion. Tiny venue—escaped world, music sanctuary.
Even pro Song Yao—swept up.
Many lives with Qin Qianlan—this one shook hardest.
Audience waves—Song Yao swayed too.
Vibes fed stage—golden vocalist soared, hurricane waves crashing hearts.
Eyes shut, brows knit—every note dug from depths, throat to soul-shaking melody.
Sweat beaded, slid down sculpted face, soaked golden strands.
Unbothered—body quivered with rhythm. Breaths sharp. Guitar gripped—chords flying, arm muscles flashing under lights.
Final note—lights softened. Silence—pin-drop.
Panic flickered in Qin Qianlan’s eyes.
Then—corner thumb-up from Song Yao. Panic gone.
Clap clap clap!
Thunderous applause, screams, cheers.
“Love it!”
“Red Rose NYB!”
“Sisters so cool—I’m in love!”
“Red Rose dog for life!”
…
Qin Qianlan panted—joy overflowing.
Braced for boos, rejection.
Feared two years’ work met hate.
But cheers erased all.
“Thanks for the love! We’re Red Rose! Now—your headliners, Reverse Thinking!”
Exit line—bow, offstage.
Backstage—Qin Qianlan collapsed on sofa, gasping.
“Qianlan, water.”
Song Yao, waiting, handed open bottle, wiped her sweat with tissue.
“Thanks…”
Gulped half—breathing steadied. Eager: “Xiao Yaozi, how was it down there?”
“Amazing.”
Song Yao nodded. “Max effect. Crowd already told you.”
“Hehe, didn’t expect it to go this smooth.”
Qin Qianlan grinned. “Imagine our exclusive packed like this…”
“Qianlan, believe in yourself. Your songs slap. That day’s close.”
Qin Qianlan sat up—flopped on Song Yao’s lap. “Borrow your words~”