Failed to Run Away After Transmigrating as the Scummy Alpha's Wife of the Villain - Chapter 22

Chi Yuan: “Cough, cough—”

 

 

The lemon soda she had just sipped went down the wrong pipe. Chi Yuan quickly grabbed a few tissues from the coffee table, wiping her mouth.

 

 

“Ship? Ship what?”

 

 

“JiangChi Unyielding”—was that referring to her and Jiang Chi?

 

 

What’s wrong with netizens these days? Do they have to ship everything?

 

 

With her ears burning red, Chi Yuan silently grumbled, yet somehow found herself searching for the “JiangChi Unyielding” fan community.

 

 

The profile picture on the community’s homepage was a screenshot from the show—a fleeting glance exchanged between Chi Yuan and Jiang Ci during their first meeting in “Peach and Plum Village.”

 

 

The editor had cropped out the “distracting” guests around them and added a soft-focus filter. After staring at it for a while, even Chi Yuan started seeing it as some kind of intense, soulful gaze.

 

 

“You are the world in my eyes.”

 

 

Chi Yuan shuddered at her own sudden thought—she must have been brainwashed by those obsessive shippers.

 

 

Scrolling down, she came across a few comments:

 

 

“Followed, but this pairing is way too niche.”

 

 

“Newcomers, go watch Episode 1 of ‘Peach and Plum Village’—plenty of content to feast on. Trust my decade-long instinct for real ships; this one won’t stay cold for long.”

 

 

“‘I want to win.'”

 

 

“‘Fine, then I’ll let you win.'”

 

 

“No way, this is too sweet—I might faint. Waiting for them to get together.”

 

 

Even their casual banter had been endlessly dissected, becoming secret code for the “JiangChi Unyielding” shippers.

 

 

Chi Yuan wore the classic “old man squinting at phone” expression, feeling like she’d stepped into a parallel universe.

 

 

In this alternate world, there were still two people named Chi Yuan and Jiang Ci.

 

 

They fell for each other at first sight, sparks flying in every exchanged glance.

 

 

To get the other’s attention, they clumsily masked genuine care with playful bickering.

 

 

Here—

 

 

Jiang Ci’s cold remarks were just tsundere behavior, hiding secret affection.

 

 

Chi Yuan’s gentle gestures were uncontrollable urges, impossible to suppress.

 

 

They were stuck in that agonizing stage of mutual pining, desperate to break through the thin barrier between them but terrified of ruining their friendship…

 

 

More than friends, less than lovers.

 

 

Chi Yuan: “Yikes—” This was beyond ridiculous.

 

 

If she weren’t one of the people involved, she might have actually believed it—their arguments sounded so convincing, the logic almost airtight.

 

 

The system muttered internally: Human imagination puts even AI to shame. Your ability to delude yourselves far surpasses your self-control and initiative.

 

 

Chi Yuan: This was her first time experiencing it firsthand.

 

 

Then, the only post with a nine-panel GIF caught her eye.

 

 

“Feast incoming~ Feast incoming~ Not the creator, just a humble reposter. JiangChi Unyielding—damn, it’s good. Hoping the mods will make me a junior admin.”

 

 

Before she could click, the GIF auto-played—a rapid montage of fleeting glances between her and Jiang Ci on the show.

 

 

As one of the subjects involved… she was baffled.

 

 

Was it the filters? The lighting? Or the show’s camera angles? Did they really exchange that many looks?

 

 

She scrutinized the images, vaguely recalling that in the second-to-last frame, she hadn’t actually been looking at Jiang Ci.

 

 

 

Shipping fake couples is pointless, and Chi Yuan felt it necessary to clarify things between herself and Jiang Ci.

 

 

So, amidst the flood of comments squealing about how sweet they were, she squeezed in a different voice.

 

 

“But in the second-to-last photo, wasn’t Chi Yuan looking at Momo? Because Momo was introducing herself at the time, and Jiang Ci just happened to be sitting next to her.”

 

 

Unexpectedly, as soon as this comment went up, many people replied to her.

 

 

“Look at the direction of her gaze—she was clearly looking at Jiang Ci. The love in Chi Yuan’s puppy eyes was practically overflowing.”

 

 

Chi Yuan: Wait, what do you mean by “puppy eyes”?

 

 

“If Chi Yuan wasn’t looking at Jiang Ci, then why did Jiang Ci lower her head shyly?”

 

 

Chi Yuan: She was just spacing out—definitely not shy. What are you misunderstanding here? Since when would Jiang Ci ever be shy?

 

 

“They’re seriously so sweet, sis. Let’s be microscope girls together!”

 

 

Chi Yuan: No, they’re really not sweet.

 

 

Chi Yuan swallowed, her slender fingers flying across her phone screen as she tentatively continued posting in the fandom tag.

 

 

“But I think Jiang Ci might actually dislike Chi Yuan. Didn’t she say on the boat that the person she hates the most is Chi Yuan? I think she meant it. Plus, they’ve been bickering nonstop—doesn’t seem like they get along at all.”

 

 

“Bickering makes it even better to ship! If they really hated each other, they’d stay far apart. As a longtime Jiang Ci fan, I can tell you—Jiang Jiang’s personality is just like this. Sometimes she’s mischievous and likes to tease people, and her words can sound cold, but she’s really just a tsundere who says the opposite of what she means.”

 

 

“Exactly! If they didn’t get along, they wouldn’t even talk. Just look at a certain Miss Jiang over there—they haven’t exchanged more than five words since meeting.”

 

 

“I can’t stand their fandom. Ever since the show started airing, they’ve been picking fights with Jiang Ci’s fans. They’ve already flooded the tag—now they’re planning to swarm the official account next.”

 

 

“They’ve even prepared several hashtags, planning to spam comments and reposts to trend.”

 

 

Chi Yuan froze, then asked under that comment, “What happened?”

 

 

“They’re claiming Jiang Ci is throwing her weight around and deliberately giving Jiang Wan the cold shoulder. Everyone knows their fandoms don’t get along, so why is Jiang Wan pretending they’re all buddy-buddy? Did she forget about that time she personally attacked Jiang Ci’s fans? She’s way too good at playing the victim.”

 

 

“Then the Wanzi fans started saying they feel bad for their idol and demanded the producers kick Jiang Ci out of the show.”

 

 

Chi Yuan couldn’t agree more with that. Jiang Wan’s whole act—playing weak, milking sympathy, manipulating her fans—was a full-service operation.

 

 

In a way, those fans she deceived and used as weapons were pretty pitiful too, stanning such a two-faced idol.

 

 

“So, sis, made up your mind yet? Joining us is worth it—let’s wait for them to get together.”

 

 

Chi Yuan thought these shippers were pretty enthusiastic, but she didn’t dare reply, only quietly followed the tag and checked in.

 

 

She wasn’t following the tag to ship them—she just wanted to see what wild stories the shippers would come up with after the next few episodes aired.

 

 

Just for fun.

 

 

The brief weekend of freedom came to an end, and the guests gradually returned to the little villa by Sunday evening.

 

 

By 8:30 p.m., Jiang Wan, the last to arrive, finally dragged her suitcase in, a bag slung over her shoulder.

 

 

She looked utterly exhausted, with faint dark circles under her eyes, her gaze half-lidded as if she could barely stay awake.

 

 

 

She politely greeted everyone, then “unintentionally” yawned before suddenly covering her half-open mouth as if realizing her rudeness.

 

 

“Sorry about that, I’m just exhausted. I only got a few hours of sleep last night to catch my flight.”

 

 

Zhao Zhenzhen waved it off. “No worries, the production team won’t assign tasks until tomorrow anyway. You can rest tonight.”

 

 

Jiang Wan nodded wearily. “Yeah, Hengdian is so far from here—I almost didn’t make it.”

 

 

While subtly observing the other guests’ expressions, she maintained her diligent persona. “But this matter was too important to skip…”

 

 

Her trailing words were clearly meant to pique curiosity. Chi Yuan thought Jiang Wan probably wanted someone to ask about the work she’d been so busy with.

 

 

So, before Zhao Zhenzhen could speak, Chi Yuan abruptly changed the subject. “The new episode of Hometown of Peaches and Plums is out—have you all seen it?”

 

 

The twins were on the couch playing games. Gu Meng stabbed at the screen to clear minions while replying, “Of course I watched it. My image is at stake.”

 

 

Gu Ning teased him, “Your image? Do you know you’ve earned a new nickname—Master of Shaky Hands?”

 

 

Gu Meng shrugged. “I’ll own that.”

 

 

Wang Wen crossed his arms on the table, looking dead serious. “Did you know I gained followers? The last time my Weibo blew up was during my Spring Festival Gala crosstalk performance last year.”

 

 

He theatrically swept back nonexistent bangs. “And—get this—fans are actually calling me handsome in the comments on my lifestyle posts. I always knew my comedian charm would win people over.”

 

 

The group burst into laughter.

 

 

Jiang Wan frowned at the derailed conversation. She tried to speak several times but kept getting cut off, finally raising her voice in frustration. “Has the first episode aired already? I had no idea. I’ve been too busy discussing the script with the director to go online, let alone watch the show.”

 

 

Her words cast an awkward silence.

 

 

Everyone understood work commitments and tight schedules, but Jiang Wan’s repeated emphasis on having “no time” inadvertently made those who had watched the show seem idle and unprofessional.

 

 

The atmosphere grew tense, yet Jiang Wan remained oblivious. She continued, almost to herself, “Director Li Xiang is incredibly meticulous—he kept revising even minor details with me. Still, I’m thrilled to collaborate with such an acclaimed filmmaker. I’ll give my all to any role.”

 

 

“…Li Xiang?” Zhao Zhenzhen blinked. “The rising star who directed The Street Where Stars Fall? He’s casting you in his film?”

 

 

Her tone was unmistakably impressed.

 

 

Jiang Wan smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes, he’s preparing a new project and thought I matched one of the characters perfectly.”

 

 

Li Xiang, a formally trained director, had skyrocketed to fame after winning Best Director for last year’s film.

 

 

His movies were renowned for making even minor characters compelling, and the competition to star in them was fierce—the bar set impossibly high.

 

 

Li Xiang had strict principles: regardless of an actor’s fame, suitability for the role and passing his personal audition were nonnegotiable.

 

 

Without genuine skill, there was no chance.

 

 

No wonder Zhao Zhenzhen sounded so surprised.

 

 

 

Jiang Wan felt quite pleased with herself, but suddenly covered her mouth in feigned panic. “Oh no, how could I have let that slip? I must be exhausted. The movie hasn’t been officially announced yet—the director specifically said to keep it confidential, and I completely forgot!”

 

 

Chi Yuan: “……”

 

 

The Female Lead Ascendancy System was furious at Jiang Wan’s blunder: Host, the casting isn’t even finalized yet! Why are you blabbing about it everywhere?

 

 

Jiang Wan replied carelessly: “Li Xiang already showed me the script—of course I’m confirmed for the role.”

 

 

The System retorted: That wasn’t the complete script, and didn’t the director emphasize secrecy? You’re on a live show right now—if this gets broadcast…

 

 

Jiang Wan waved it off: “Relax, I’ll just turn on the charm. The upgraded version works wonders. Besides, after the first episode of Peach and Plum Homeland aired, my popularity points skyrocketed—not only did I repay all my debts, but I’ve got plenty to spare now.”

 

 

The System short-circuited into silence: “……”

 

 

Meanwhile, Jiang Ci—who had been lounging in her chair—casually lifted her eyelids to glance at Jiang Wan upon hearing Li Xiang’s name.

 

 

Oh? So Jiang Wan got that supporting role from Li Xiang in the end?