Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: Childhood Friend

Netizens are forgetful; during the day they were passionately discussing who the mysterious female lead was, but barely past midnight they were drawn to another huge scandal.

“Wen Xia is leaving Sweetgirl!”

This brief message surged to the top of Weibo’s hot search list in under half an hour, with over 100,000 comments.

China is currently swept up in a Korean wave, with all kinds of boy and girl groups emerging like mushrooms after rain, and Korean idols frequently appearing on domestic variety shows or in TV dramas.

Wen Xia, as the only Chinese member and also the leader and visual face of South Korea’s fourth-generation girl group Top1—Sweetgirl—had an absolutely terrifying number of fans and traffic.

Although she rarely promoted herself in China, her Weibo followers still exceeded thirty million, placing her among the country’s top influencers, capable of trending with just a casual post.

But no one expected her to trend for quitting the group; almost everyone speculated about her reasons—whether she was bullied by members, subjected to industry exploitation, or sidelined for being difficult, with rumors and conspiracy theories flooding endlessly.

Fortunately, Wen Xia quickly clarified on Weibo:

“Thank you all for your concern. I parted ways peacefully with Sweetgirl and the company; my decision to leave is entirely personal and has nothing to do with anyone else.

I will take some time off to reflect on my achievements over the past few years, seriously ground myself, and thank you all once again for your care.”

Although this post explained everything clearly, netizens refused to let it go, relentlessly pressing whether there was some hidden truth—after all, this departure was far too sudden; there must have been an issue.

But Wen Xia gave no further response; just as she said, she was taking a long break and had temporarily no interest in these online disputes…

In the morning, Luo Quan woke under the urging of sunlight.

Sitting on the tatami for a moment, she marveled at how healthy her sleep schedule had become—back in her past life, she’d just be falling asleep at this hour.

She rubbed her face, took off her clothes, and walked into the bathroom; a cold shower in the morning helped sharpen the mind… in fact, washing her face with cold water had the same effect.

But her body was sticky with sweat; a full shower would feel much fresher.

It’s said that ninety percent of white people have strong body odor—note, body odor, not body fragrance—which is why all white people wear perfume; without a stronger scent, the odor simply can’t be masked.

Fortunately, Luo Quan was incredibly lucky to have inherited none of this genetic trait; otherwise, she wouldn’t be woken by the sun each morning, but by her own stench.

After another half-hour of fussing in the bathroom, Luo Quan stepped out wearing a large T-shirt, her flawless, long legs glowing dazzlingly white in the sunlight.

She walked to the fridge, took out a bottle of milk and a raisin bread—this was her breakfast.

Luo Quan rarely ate soft, fluffy foods with no chew, except for raisin bread.

Her favorite way to eat it was to shove one end entirely into her mouth, then bite down hard, letting the bursting butter and slightly salty raisins swirl between her teeth before swallowing it all.

Then she’d sip the milk—the cloying sensation stuck in her throat instantly replaced by cool, smooth relief, bringing immense comfort from her tongue’s base to her chest.

For boys, this eating style wasn’t unusual; some of her buddies were careless about appearances, devouring barbecued skewers by swallowing several at once, then sticking out their tongues to swirl them around, lips glistening with saliva—absolutely disgusting, yet they still enjoyed it.

But now it was different; eating like this would waste the stunning beauty heaven had given her; she didn’t need to be as refined as a lady taking tiny bites, but at least she couldn’t puff her cheeks like a toad.

This was just one small part of the habits Luo Quan needed to change; she had countless others to correct—habits formed over more than a decade couldn’t be fixed overnight.

As she bit into the bread, her phone rang; when she saw it was Wen Xia calling, memories from the past flooded back.

This Wen Xia was her childhood friend since first grade, also from a single-parent household raised by her mother; Wen Xia lived right across the hall, and they played together for a full nine years!

Later, Luo Quan moved to Japan with her mother, while Wen Xia went to Korea, reportedly to become a trainee.

When Wen Xia debuted during Luo Quan’s second year of high school, Wen Xia had called to celebrate with her—but afterward, Luo Quan buried herself in studying for Japan’s university entrance exams, and their contact gradually faded.

When she got into Tokyo University this year, they spoke once on the phone, but Wen Xia seemed busy and they talked briefly; since then, they hadn’t contacted each other.

Though she didn’t know why Wen Xia suddenly called, Luo Quan still pressed answer—after all, they’d known each other for over a decade.

“Hello?”

“Luo Luo? Guess where I am now?”

You’re asking me that? How could I not guess? Luo Quan smirked. “You’re not in Tokyo, are you?”

“So smart! I’m at Narita International Airport right now—where do you live? I’m coming over!”

Luo Quan hurried to stop her: “No, don’t—you’re a walking disaster, just stay put. I’ll come pick you up!”

She knew her childhood friend’s terrible sense of direction all too well; back in Chongqing’s maze-like streets, without Luo Quan, Wen Xia would’ve gotten lost countless times.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you right outside the airport!” Wen Xia hung up.

If Luo Quan had been even slightly lazy, she could’ve had Miki-kun handle this—have him pick up Wen Xia at Narita.

Though she wasn’t signed to Sony, Sony must have wanted to sign her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have assigned Miki as her personal driver—that’s a perk usually reserved for contracted artists.

But Luo Quan didn’t feel right using personal matters to trouble others, so she took a taxi straight to Narita Airport.

In the crowded terminal, crowds flowed past Wen Xia—foreigners and Japanese alike—but not a single pesky paparazzo in sight.

This was the first time since her debut she’d used the regular entrance, no screaming fans, no blinding camera flashes lighting up the night.

Like most foreign tourists, she wore a sun hat and sunglasses; aside from her more graceful figure, she looked utterly ordinary.

This was where her vacation would begin—and after three years apart, her best friend was finally coming to meet her. She wondered what the skinny, golden-haired girl had become.

Soon, a taxi pulled into Wen Xia’s view; out stepped a tall, golden-haired girl who took several crumpled yen notes from a white chain bag and handed them to the driver.

Though the golden-haired girl had changed greatly since Wen Xia last saw her three years ago, Wen Xia recognized her at once.

“Luo Luo~~” Wen Xia opened her arms wide, let out a joyful cry, and lunged toward the unsuspecting Luo Quan.