71: Chapter 71 Anyway, she was already in such a sorry state

"Buzz... buzz..." Song Tianhao's phone vibrated, the name "Park So-yeon" dancing on the screen in the dim light.

The sound of the vibration, along with the flickering light on the screen, was like a basin of ice water, unexpectedly dousing the ambiguous and tense air in the practice room.

Song Tianhao, who was within arm's reach, froze in his movements.

He was only five centimeters from Lee Qri's face, clearly seeing her pupils suddenly constrict, seeing the undried tear tracks on her face glistening with a moist sheen under the faint light of the phone, seeing her chest rising and falling slightly from nervousness, and her lips slightly parted in bewilderment.

The lingering sound of the words "Help me pry it open" seemed to still be trembling in the air when it was abruptly cut off by this sudden incoming call.

Lee Qri froze in place, her mind completely blank.

At that moment, the oppressive feeling brought by Song Tianhao's proximity, the implicit, dangerous, and tempting meaning in his words, as well as her body's instinctive trembling and stalled breathing, all made her feel like she had been put under a freezing spell.

At this moment, the phone's vibration was like a thunderclap, jolting her awake from that near-trance state, followed by a belated, overwhelming sense of shame and panic.

She jerked her head away, avoiding Song Tianhao's gaze, her cheeks and ears instantly burning bright red, almost as if they could drip blood.

Song Tianhao's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly; that brief emotional fluctuation was so fast it felt like an illusion.

He did not pull back immediately, but maintained that extremely close distance, looked at Lee Qri again, his gaze lingering for a moment on her burning red earlobes and violently trembling eyelashes, before he slowly straightened up and put some distance between them.

He did not answer the still-vibrating phone, letting it buzz on its own on the low table, the light from the screen flickering in the dim practice room, illuminating a small patch of dust dancing in the air.

He turned, walked to the wall, and pressed the light switch.

"Click."

The fluorescent tubes lit up one by one, instantly dispelling the last bit of ambiguous dimness in the practice room and exposing everything to the light.

Lee Qri squinted uncomfortably, raising her hand to block the glaring light, using it to hide her burning cheeks and disheveled expression.

She remained sitting on the floor, leaning against the cold wall, feeling weak all over, as if she had just gone through an exhausting battle.

Song Tianhao walked back in front of her, looking down at her from above.

With the lights now bright, there was no expression on his face.

The near-dangerous aggression from just a moment ago had vanished without a trace, and he had returned to his usual calm, almost indifferent demeanor, as if the person who had said "pry it open" and leaned in close was not him.

"Locked vocal cords are a physiological loss of voice caused by extreme tension and long-term suppression, or what is called 'emotional aphasia'."

He spoke, his voice steady and his pace unhurried, as if explaining a medical case, "Your problem is not entirely a psychological barrier; there are also physiological habits involved.

Crying is not just shedding tears; it is the coordination of breathing, vocal cords, facial muscles, and even the whole body and mind.

You only unlocked the switch for tears, but jammed the gears for speaking."

Lee Qri raised her head in a daze, the tear tracks on her face still wet, her eyes red and swollen, and her gaze still lingering with unease and confusion.

She didn't quite understand these terms, but the phrase "physiological habits" made her heart tremble slightly.

"Therefore," Song Tianhao changed the subject, his gaze landing on her still-trembling lips, "now, let's switch to a different exercise."

Lee Qri's heart tightened, not knowing what he was going to do next.

"Act out a kiss scene." Song Tianhao said, his tone as flat as if he were saying "go pour a glass of water."

"..." Lee Qri was completely stunned, doubting she had heard correctly.

A kiss scene? Now? With him?

"Not a real kiss." Song Tianhao seemed to see through her shock and added, "It's the moment before a kiss.

The state you need to portray is 'you want to kiss someone you like, but you don't dare to.' That moment of restraint, hesitation, longing, and self-suppression."

He paused, locked his gaze on her eyes, and uttered two words with unquestionable authority: "The object is me."

"Begin."

The order was given, leaving no room for negotiation.

Lee Qri's brain was roaring.

A kiss scene? With the President? This was a blatant directive that crossed a certain safety boundary.

She sat on the cold floor, back against the wall, her body so stiff it felt as if it didn't belong to her.

The lights were glaring, and she could feel Song Tianhao's gaze hitting her like a searchlight, scrutinizing every one of her reactions.

"I..." She opened her mouth, her throat dry, her voice as thin as a mosquito's, "President... I..."

"Can't do it?" Song Tianhao said the second half of the sentence for her, no emotion detectable in his voice, "You also said you couldn't do it just now.

And then what?"

Lee Qri's face flushed even redder, out of shame, anger, and bewilderment.

She bit her lower lip hard, braced her weak body, and slowly stood up from the floor.

Her legs were still a bit numb, and she swayed for a moment before managing to stand steady.

She didn't dare to look into Song Tianhao's eyes, her gaze drifting to the second button of his shirt, where a small, dark gray mother-of-pearl button gleamed with a warm luster under the light.

She took a deep breath, trying hard to recall the "want to kiss but don't dare" scenes from the movies and TV dramas she had watched.

What did the female lead usually do? Tilt her head slightly, eyes misty, lips parted, fingertips trembling as they were raised and then lowered...

Lee Qri tried to mobilize her facial muscles to make a similar expression, and her body also moved a small step toward Song Tianhao, extremely slowly and with visible stiffness.

Then, another small step.

The distance was closing.

She could smell his crisp scent, mixed with a very faint tobacco smell, and a hint of... the indescribable sense of oppression he had brought when he leaned close earlier.

Her heart beat fast and heavy, almost threatening to break through her chest.

The expression on her face tried to maintain "longing" and "hesitation," but her eyes couldn't help but flicker and dodge, and her breathing became rapid and unstable.

Just as she felt her face was about to touch his chest and she had reached the critical point where she had to make the "approaching" move, she suddenly acted as if she had been scalded, jerking her head away and taking half a step back, her voice trembling with a breakdown: "I can't do it! President... I really..."

She didn't finish her sentence.

Because Song Tianhao moved.

In the instant she turned her head and tried to retreat, Song Tianhao's hand suddenly raised, precisely gripping the back of her neck.

His palm was warm and powerful, carrying an irresistible force, fixing her turned-away head back into place, forcing her to face him directly.

This movement was too fast, too sudden, and carried absolute control.

Lee Qri didn't even have time to gasp before she was gripped by the back of the neck and pulled back into the dangerous distance of less than twenty centimeters between them.

She was forced to lift her face and meet his bottomless eyes.

There was no desire in them, only a kind of extreme, calm scrutiny, and a hint of... impatience?

"If you can't do it, then do it until you can." Song Tianhao's voice sounded above her head, very close, his breath brushing against her bangs, "Again."

The hand gripping the back of her neck did not let go, but there was no further movement either; it just held her fixed like a ruthless scaffold, forcing her to complete this "exercise."

Lee Qri was trembling all over; the temperature and strength coming from the back of her neck made her shudder and left her with nowhere to escape.

Humiliation, panic, shame, and anger, along with a hint of a strange feeling stirred up by this absolute control—one she didn't even want to admit to herself—churned in her heart.

She closed her eyes, her long eyelashes trembling violently, like the wings of a dying butterfly in the wind.

The second attempt began under the confinement of Song Tianhao's palm.

She tried hard to ignore the presence of the hand on the back of her neck, trying to immerse herself in the role of "wanting to kiss but not daring."

She closed her eyes, imagining the scene from the script, imagining that the man in front of her was someone who made her heart flutter yet fearful.

She pouted her lips slightly, a posture common in movies, slightly seductive, and leaned forward again.

This time, because the back of her neck was fixed, her movements appeared even more clumsy and stiff.

She could feel Song Tianhao's breathing, very steady, even a bit cold.

He was just there, like an inanimate prop, or a calm examiner, waiting for her clumsy performance.

Just as she was closing her eyes, her lips trembling, and about to "touch" the contour of his chin, Song Tianhao suddenly moved.

He didn't push her away, nor did he deepen this "exercise."

The hand gripping the back of her neck applied slight pressure, bringing her a little closer to him.

At the same time, he lowered his head, moving extremely fast.

Then, a touch, extremely light, extremely fast, like a feather brushing by, and yet like an illusion, landed on Lee Qri's lips.

Soft lips, separating the moment they touched.

It was so fast that Lee Qri didn't even react to what it was, only feeling an imperceptible sensation graze her lips, carrying his crisp scent.

She opened her eyes wide, her pupils constricting in shock.

The confinement on the back of her neck loosened, and Song Tianhao took a step back, creating distance.

Song Tianhao raised his hand and wiped his lower lip extremely naturally, his movement as casual as if he were just wiping away a bit of dust.

"Did you feel it?" He looked at her, his voice calm and ripple-free, even carrying a bit of the coolness of a teaching critique, "This is what you call 'not daring to kiss'."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face, which was still in a pouting posture but filled with astonishment.

"What you were acting just now," he mercilessly exposed, "was 'not daring to look'."

"..."

A deathly silence spread through the practice room.

Only the faint buzzing of the fluorescent tubes, and Lee Qri's own increasingly loud, uncontrollable heartbeat and heavy breathing remained.

She stood frozen in place, like a statue struck by lightning.

The lingering, feather-like sensation on her lips was like a red-hot branding iron, burning so intensely that her soul was trembling.

Song Tianhao kissed her?

Although it was so light, so fast, and hardly counted as a kiss, it was indeed a touch of lips!

And he... he could actually comment on her performance just now as "not daring to look" in such a calm tone?

Shame, shock, confusion, and a hint of a strange feeling after being so accurately seen through and "taught," caused her brain to completely crash, leaving it blank.

Just at this moment, a soft sound, and the door to the performance practice room was pushed open from the outside.

"Click."

"Qri, you forgot your bag; I brought it to... take..."

Jeon Boram's voice came from the doorway, with her usual gentleness, but the words stopped abruptly the moment she saw the situation in the practice room.

She was holding Lee Qri's light beige chain bag, standing at the door, her gaze landing on the two people standing face-to-face.

Lee Qri had her back to the door, but one could see her profile was flushed red, her eyes were red and swollen, her hair was slightly messy, and her lips... seemed to have an unusual rosy flush?

And Song Tianhao was standing opposite her, his expression as calm as always, but on his lips... it seemed there was a trace of coral-colored tint?

The light was bright, and everything was exposed.

The gentle smile on Jeon Boram's face instantly froze, a flash of astonishment in her eyes, followed by disbelief, and finally, it quickly settled into a complex expression.

Her gaze darted rapidly between Song Tianhao and Lee Qri, finally settling on Lee Qri's slightly trembling back.

Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds.

Then, before Jeon Boram could react, and before Lee Qri could even recover from her shock and shame to turn around, Song Tianhao moved.

He did not let go of the hand still cupping the back of Lee Qri's neck, though the pressure was already very light. He didn't even turn his head, merely glancing sideways from the corner of his eye at Jeon Boram, who was standing frozen in the doorway. His voice was low, yet carried a chilling sense of command:

"Close the door."

"Get out."

Four words—clear, concise, without any explanation or emotional fluctuation—yet they struck the floor like ice picks.

Jeon Boram's body swayed almost imperceptibly, and her face looked even paler under the fluorescent lights. She pressed her lips tightly together, her fingers gripping Lee Qri's bag with enough force to make them tremble slightly.

She took one deep look at Song Tianhao's back, then another at Lee Qri's stiff shoulders.

In the end, Jeon Boram said nothing; she merely stepped back extremely slowly and then gently closed the door.

"Click."

The door latched shut, sealing off the inside from the outside.

But the momentary freeze and the complex emotions in Jeon Boram's eyes had already acted like a bomb dropped into the already chaotic lake of Lee Qri's heart. She had been caught by a teammate...

Caught kissing the President in the practice room?

And being so coldly ordered to "get out" by the President? What would Jeon Boram think? Would others find out?

An immense panic and shame instantly overwhelmed her. She turned around abruptly, wanting to say something to Song Tianhao, but her lips trembled and no sound came out; only tears welled up uncontrollably again.

Song Tianhao seemed completely unaffected by this little interlude. Only then did he release the hand that had been lightly cupping the back of her neck. With natural movements, he took a dark gray handkerchief from his suit pocket and slowly wiped his lips, then wiped his fingers.

After doing this, he looked up at Lee Qri, who was teary-eyed and panic-stricken.

"This color," he suddenly spoke, saying something completely irrelevant. His gaze landed on her lips, which looked somewhat mottled from crying and their recent "practice." "Doesn't suit you."

"Too immature."

Lee Qri froze, looking at him blankly, not understanding what he was talking about.

Song Tianhao did not explain; he simply took something out from another pocket inside his suit jacket—a small, exquisitely packaged lipstick. It had a metal casing and was a true red, a limited edition from a top luxury brand known for its opulent and powerful female image.

He twisted off the cap, revealing the full, vibrant true-red lipstick, which shimmered with a velvety luster under the lights.

"Use this." He handed the lipstick to Lee Qri, his tone flat but carrying an air that brooked no refusal. "True red."

"It suits someone playing 'wants to kiss but doesn't dare'."

Lee Qri stared blankly at the lipstick held out before her, its color so intense it was almost scorching, then looked up at Song Tianhao's calm, unruffled face.

He had just kissed her, even if only for a moment, had just been caught by Jeon Boram, and had just driven Jeon Boram away with that icy tone...

Yet now, as if nothing had happened, he was handing her a lipstick and telling her this color was more suitable?

Absurd, it was too absurd.

Yet her body, as if pulled by some invisible force, slowly and tremblingly reached out.

Her fingers touched the cold metal tube, and she flinched as if burned, but in the end, she grasped the lipstick. It was heavy, of excellent quality, and carried a trace of warmth left by his fingertips.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted to the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror on the adjacent wall.

In the mirror, her currently disheveled appearance was reflected: red, swollen eyes, messy hair, mottled lip makeup, dried tear tracks on her face, and her practice clothes wrinkled from sitting on the floor.

Yet in her hand, she held a true red lipstick symbolizing power, allure, and control.

The stark contrast stirred an indescribable impulse in her heart.

She twisted off the lipstick cap abruptly, and without looking, she messily applied that intense true red to her trembling lips while facing the mirror. Her hands were shaking so badly that the lipstick slipped outside her lip line, smudging a small patch at the corner of her mouth.

Song Tianhao watched her clumsy and eager movements quietly, without stopping her.

Not until she was shaking so violently that she almost poked the lipstick into her own face did he finally move.

He stepped forward, standing behind her, and his tall, upright figure instantly appeared in the mirror. He reached out and grasped the wrist she was using to hold the lipstick, which wouldn't stop shaking.

His palm was broad and warm, carrying a power that steadied the heart, easily wrapping around her slender, cold wrist and stopping her trembling.

Then, with his other hand, he took the lipstick from her.

Lee Qri's body stiffened, and from the mirror, she stared blankly at the side profile of the man behind her, who was within arm's reach.

He lowered his head slightly, his gaze focused intently on her lips. With one hand steadily holding her wrist and the other holding the true red lipstick, he began to touch up her makeup with movements that were extremely steady, light, and could even be called gentle.

Song Tianhao first wiped away the smudge at the corner of her mouth with a very light touch. Then, using the lipstick, he traced and filled in her lips bit by bit, following their shape meticulously.

His fingertips occasionally brushed against her lips inadvertently, bringing a cool sensation that intertwined with the warm breath of his respiration.

Song Tianhao's expression was very focused, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were handling an extremely delicate work of art or performing some solemn ritual.

Throughout the process, Lee Qri stood rigid, not daring to move, even forgetting to breathe. She could only watch in the mirror as the man who always controlled everything was, at this moment, applying lipstick for her from such a close distance and with such a gentle posture.

In the mirror, their figures almost overlapped; his tall frame completely shrouded her, and an unprecedented, heart-palpitating sense of intimacy and being controlled tightly enveloped her.

When the final stroke was complete, Song Tianhao stepped back slightly to examine her lips in the mirror.

Full, vibrant, with clear lines, they carried a compelling, aggressive beauty that stood in sharp contrast to her currently red, swollen eyes and pale complexion, creating a strange and fragile tension.

"Done," he said in a low voice, capping the lipstick and casually putting it back in his pocket.

Then, he looked up again, meeting Lee Qri's eyes in the mirror. Tears still lingered there, but there seemed to be something else, something more complex and hard to define.

"Now," Song Tianhao's voice sounded again, steady, clear, and with a calmness that drove one to the edge of a cliff, "kiss me."

He paused and added two words, like a final command, and also like a final judgment:

"Do you dare?"

At that moment, Lee Qri's heart seemed to stop beating.

She looked at their close figures in the mirror, looked into his bottomless eyes, and looked at the smear of true red on her lips that he had applied with his own hands—a red so vibrant it was blinding.

All of Lee Qri's shame, panic, fear, and grievance seemed to be ignited by this touch of red, burning into a kind of desperate, all-or-nothing madness.

What if she was caught by Jeon Boram? What if she was mocked? She was already this pathetic anyway.

Next week's audition... She couldn't lose.

He was the one who said, if you can't do it, keep doing it until you can.

He was the one who "taught" her what "not daring to kiss" really was.

And it was he who personally applied this "suitable" color for her.

Her breathing became heavy and rapid in the suffocating silence. She turned around abruptly, no longer facing the mirror, but facing Song Tianhao directly.

She lifted her face, her eyes still red, but a strange, almost desperate spark of fire ignited in her gaze.

Then, under Song Tianhao's calm gaze, she stood on tiptoe, grabbed the fabric of his shirt at his chest with both hands, and pulled him toward her with force.

Lee Qri closed her eyes at the same time, and without a care for anything else, she fiercely kissed his lips with her own.

It wasn't the feather-light touch from before; this was a kiss that tasted of lipstick and tears.

She had no technique, relying only on instinct, pressing tightly against his lips, clumsy and forceful, her body trembling slightly from tension and exertion.

Song Tianhao did not dodge; he did not even move.

He let Lee Qri kiss him clumsily and forcefully; he let her crumple the shirt on his chest. His breathing remained steady, his eyes dark and deep like an ancient well, reflecting not a single ripple.

Five seconds. Maybe longer.

Just when Lee Qri was almost suffocating from lack of oxygen and extreme tension, Song Tianhao finally moved.

He raised one hand, steadily gripping her waist, while his other hand supported the back of her head, pressing her more tightly against himself. Then, he turned from passive to active, easily prying open her teeth, which were clenched from tension, and deepened the kiss.

This was a deep kiss carrying a sense of control. It was assertive and brooked no refusal, yet it was also patient, leading her into a strange and exciting realm. The scent of the lipstick spread between their lips and teeth, mixing with their breaths, and their body temperatures rose as they pressed closely together.

Lee Qri's mind went completely blank; all her ability to think was plundered by this sudden and deep kiss.

She could only passively endure it, her body going limp, relying entirely on his hands at her waist and the back of her head for support, her hands unconsciously clutching his shirt tightly.

Time lost all meaning.

I don't know how long it had been—perhaps only a few minutes, perhaps as long as a century—when Song Tianhao finally released her.

He slowly pulled back, ending the kiss. Both of their breaths were somewhat ragged, sounding exceptionally clear in the silent practice room.

Lee Qri's legs went weak, and she nearly slumped to the floor, but was steadily supported by the hand he still held at her waist.

She leaned against Song Tianhao's chest, gasping for air, her cheeks flushed. The lipstick on her lips had smudged, bleeding to the corners of her mouth and even rubbing onto Song Tianhao's chin and lips, leaving an ambiguous mark.

Song Tianhao looked down at her, his gaze lingering for a moment on her dazed eyes and disheveled lips. Then, he released his hands from her waist and the back of her head, letting her stand on her own.

He raised his hand and, with the pad of his thumb, slowly wiped away the trace of lipstick from the corner of his mouth, his movements carrying a post-coital languor and scrutiny.

Then, Song Tianhao spoke, his voice slightly hoarse from the kiss, but his tone remained calm:

"This time..."

He paused, looking at Lee Qri, who was finally regaining a trace of focus and staring at him blankly, and gave a brief assessment:

"Six points."