How To Deal With Being Transmigrated As The Scumbag Ex-Wife - Chapter 35
35: Birthday
After over a month in theaters, autumn arrived, and Look Up’s final box office was announced—920 million. Though it didn’t break 1 billion, this was an impressive result among the year’s films.
Netizens, however, felt a tinge of regret:
“So close! Star Making Plan hit 1.7 billion, but Look Up didn’t even reach 1 billion…”
“I watched Star Making Plan three times, brought family and friends. I won’t rewatch Look Up in theaters, but I’ll stream it at home.”
“In my heart, Look Up is in the top three among domestic films. I’ll give my daughter a DVD for her coming-of-age ceremony.”
“You’re not true Look Up fans. I watched it four times in theaters, crying in the corner each time. I hope the Second Princess brings more great work! /Like”
As for Yu Qingjia’s fans, they could no longer be called “Fish Fans.” After her transition announcement, some fans left, and the “cheating” scandal cost her more, including a diehard fan who publicly quit, expressing heartfelt disappointment while wishing her well. With Look Up trending, the incident hit the hot search.
Seeing the fan’s sincere words, Yu Qingjia responded with understanding, thanking them for years of support and wishing them well. This unexpectedly won her new fans.
After these events, remaining fans dropped “Fish Fans” for “Second Princess Fans.” Originally a derogatory term, “Second Princess” became a badge of pride as her two films’ success silenced critics, turning many haters into fans. Her fans embraced the name, embarking on a new journey with her.
While netizens lamented, Second Princess Fans remained calm:
“Congrats to Look Up for topping the weekly box office! Go, Second Princess!”
“Look Up is amazing. Heard Second Princess is planning a new film next year. I was hoping for a New Year’s release… (whispers)”
“+1, but two films a year is insane. Second Princess, take a break, travel, post on Weibo! /Shiba Inu”
With her career shift, Second Princess Fans stopped obsessing over charts or data. If someone trolled Yu Qingjia, passersby often clapped back. Plus, with Yu Qingjia personally soothing them in group chats, they grew laid-back. Her results spoke for themselves, so they just supported her work.
Though she’d publicly said her next project would start next year, Yu Qingjia was already working on the script. She was clear: this film was a test. Removing strong cultural elements could help it abroad but risk domestic backlash.
After deliberation, she decided to prioritize the domestic market over foreign box office. The domestic market had more potential, sacrificing it for overseas gains would be shortsighted.
She quickly formed a core creative team to develop the script. After countless discussions and scrapped drafts, they named the film: Eternal Life.
In her original world, such a title likely wouldn’t pass review. But after discussing with her team, she discovered this world’s film censorship was far more lenient. Since Star Making Plan and Look Up avoided sensitive topics, she hadn’t realized how relaxed the system was—a creator’s paradise!
So, she scrapped her initial cautious approach, boldly blending modern elements, linking modern science with mythology for logical coherence, not just sequels.
The team spent over a month crafting the world-building, scrapping over thirty drafts. The office buzzed with heated debates, passersby thought they were fighting. Manager Zhang initially mediated, only to realize they didn’t need it. When they agreed, they were as close as brothers from different mothers.
Yu Qingjia stayed calm, but Zhuang Peng and another screenwriter, Jiang Yan, often clashed fiercely over minor details, as if trying to shove ideas into each other’s heads. Yet, after debates, they’d happily lunch together.
At lunch, work talk could spark new arguments. Soon, all of Xinghui knew Yu Qingjia was crafting a new project. Though no one grasped what the screenwriters debated, it didn’t stop their excitement.
Pan Xing, who starred in Yu Qingjia’s films, was now an international award-winning actress. Could they get a shot?
Suddenly, Yu Qingjia noticed more “chance” encounters with Xinghui artists. Having faced this before, she wasn’t bothered—it wouldn’t last.
Sure enough, Yu Qingyi soon cracked down. Overtly ambitious artists were warned by their managers, and Yu Qingjia’s surroundings quieted.
After finalizing the initial framework, they began writing Eternal Life’s script, taking another month to settle a draft. Even Yu Qingjia felt drained but rediscovered the joy of creation.
When the script was done, Yu Qingyi asked to see it. She was stunned, thinking it outlandish yet oddly eager to see the result. “This framework’s huge, isn’t it?”
Yu Qingjia reassured her, “Don’t worry. We’ll refine it during shooting and editing.” The script was just the first draft, finalization came with filming and post-production.
“I heard from Manager Zhang you want a series?” Yu Qingyi grew intrigued. She’d initially thought her sister’s cultural export idea—adapting myths into blockbusters—was far-fetched, but this mythic world concept seemed clever!
Seeing her interest, Yu Qingjia said, “It’s an idea, but if the first film flops, even a perfect world won’t get sequels.”
True enough.
Noticing Yu Qingyi’s thoughtful look, Yu Qingjia added, “If this works, we could build a mythic IP series. As it matures, we can nurture directors, so I won’t always have to helm it.”
She aimed to be Tianyue’s golden name but didn’t want to be its only mature director. A mature IP offered cultural export, profits, and director development.
Yu Qingyi saw the benefits, growing excited. She set down the script. “Name your budget.”
Yu Qingjia thought. “Hard to say. We haven’t broken down the script. Once the art team designs the scenes, we’ll contact VFX companies.” VFX was the costliest part, she wasn’t worried about funds but whether a company could deliver her vision.
Many films contacted VFX companies post-shooting, but she preferred negotiating early, having them prepare models so post-production could start immediately, boosting efficiency.
Yu Qingyi knew special effects blockbusters needed massive funding. Domestic films rarely used extensive VFX, usually for specific scenes. A film relying heavily on VFX was unprecedented. She nodded. “If you’re short on funds, just say so.”
“I won’t hold back.” Yu Qingjia said with a smile, noting Yu Qingyi’s changing expression before leaving with a grin.
After passing review, Eternal Life was officially greenlit.
With Look Up’s buzz still lingering, news of Eternal Life’s approval hit the hot search, stunning netizens lamenting Look Up—
Didn’t she say next year for new projects? Why greenlight now?
Was the Second Princess not taking a break to recharge?
“Holy crap, real or fake? What’s Eternal Life? The name gives nothing away.”
“The second princess is too hardworking. Geniuses are this diligent, while I, a salty fish… I’ll just lie down. /Kneels”
“Bet Second Princess is a studio with Yu Qingjia as the face. No way to explain this!”
“Genius minds are beyond us mortals. /Husky”
Yu Qingjia brushed off the comments. Netizens assumed she’d aim for the New Year’s slot, but this project required longer prep—location scouting and storyboarding took time, unlike her prior films.
Online buzz didn’t slow her. The team began work, but she received an unexpected call from Liu Ming, reminding her that her “altered” friend was still in the country.
After consideration, Yu Qingjia agreed to meet Liu Ming.
She felt odd about this “altered” friend. If she hadn’t occasionally invited Liu Ming to stay over, her silly sister wouldn’t have met her or written her into the novel this way, claiming to want a sister like Liu Ming while weaving her into the story.
…
The day she met Liu Ming, it unexpectedly rained. A misty drizzle dampened the city, hastening pedestrians’ steps.
Stepping out of her car, Yu Qingjia’s face caught the chilly autumn rain, giving her goosebumps. She recalled arriving in this world a year ago. By now, she’d be thirty in her original world.
Younger by four years here, she got a bargain.
With a self-mocking smile, she pushed down her emotions and hurried to the restaurant.
Guided by a waiter, she spotted Liu Ming by the window. The restaurant’s privacy ensured no paparazzi concerns, she was tired of dodging rumors about her “new romance” that netizens spun from nothing.
Noticing her, Liu Ming turned, eyes lighting up. “Finally! I’m starving.”
“Order then,” Yu Qingjia said, sitting opposite and gesturing to the menu. “What’ve you been up to?”
Never shy around her, Liu Ming ordered freely, saying, “I wanted to try directing, but with no funding or work, I went to the film city to join crews.”
“You’re working at the film city?” Yu Qingjia asked, surprised. Wasn’t that a bit reckless?
Liu Ming sighed glumly. “Yeah, exhausting, always getting scolded.”
This world’s Liu Ming studied finance in college. Why abandon a solid career for directing on a whim?
Speechless, Yu Qingjia exhaled. “Why suddenly want to direct?”
Liu Ming blinked, grinning. “Dunno. Saw penguins on TV one day, thought they were cute and wanted to film them.”
“Penguins” made Yu Qingjia’s heart skip. Her original-world friend pursued documentaries for penguins. Was this intentional or a coincidence?
Liu Ming quickly changed topics. “I saw your new film in theaters but left halfway, couldn’t bear to finish it.”
Yu Qingjia glanced at her. “Not surprised.”
With Liu Ming’s personality, staying through a whole film would be a shock.
Recalling her penguin comment, Yu Qingjia advised, “If you’re serious about directing, study formally. Film city gigs are a dead-end.”
Liu Ming nodded, but Yu Qingjia wasn’t sure she listened. Soon, the waiter brought their order, and Liu Ming, distracted, pulled her to eat.
After their meetup, as Yu Qingjia got in her car to head home, her phone rang—Ming Yin.
“Hello?” Answering, she heard Xiao Lizhi’s soft voice. “Xiao Yu, are you free today?”
Pausing as she fastened her seatbelt, Yu Qingjia said brightly, “Yeah, what’s up?”
Xiao Lizhi’s excitement was palpable, but she lowered her voice, mindful of something. “It’s Yinyin’s birthday. Can you come?”
Ming Yin’s birthday?
Yu Qingjia’s emotions churned. Ming Yin had messaged her for her birthday, yet she didn’t know Ming Yin’s. Without Xiao Lizhi’s call, she’d have missed it—and had no gift prepared.
“Are you busy?” Xiao Lizhi’s sweet voice drooped. “Sorry—”
“Not at all, I’m free.” Yu Qingjia cut in. “Should I come now?”
Hearing her agreement, Xiao Lizhi chirped, “Yay! At home! I’ll wait!”
Yu Qingjia hung up, glanced at the “Ming Yin” call log, started the car, and headed to pick a gift.
Celebrating Ming Yin’s birthday, how could she show up empty-handed?
Still groggy from waking, Ming Yin felt sluggish. Recent irregular meals and a sudden temperature drop had left her sick.
“Mommy—” A soft voice came from the door. Ming Yin lifted heavy eyelids, her voice hoarse. “Zhizhi, don’t come in. I’m sick, it’s contagious.”
Zhizhi stood obediently at the door. “I won’t. I’ll stay here.”
“Good girl.” Feeling a bit more spirited, Ming Yin sat up, draped a robe over her shoulders, and prepared to get water.
Seeing her move, Zhizhi asked, “What does Mommy need? I’ll help!”
Ming Yin smiled, about to decline, when the doorbell rang downstairs.
Not noticing Zhizhi’s face light up, Ming Yin checked the time, assuming it was Assistant Lin with work updates, and went to change.
…
Yu Qingjia waited briefly at the door before it opened, revealing a kind-looking middle-aged woman, likely Ming Yin’s housekeeper. Smiling warmly, she stepped aside. “Miss Yu, here for Zhizhi? Come in.”
Here for Zhizhi?
As Yu Qingjia entered, familiar “patter-patter” footsteps approached. Looking up, she saw Xiao Lizhi racing down the stairs. “Slow down on the stairs,” she said instinctively.
Xiao Lizhi giggled, launching into her arms. “Xiao Yu, you’re here!”
About to warn her against running downstairs, Yu Qingjia heard a gentle, slightly hoarse voice, thick with surprise. “Why are you here?”
Looking over, she saw Ming Yin in a white shirt and black pants, her usual sleek style. But her face looked unwell—pale cheeks flushed unhealthily, lips dry, and eyes tinged with a sickly red.
A classic sick beauty. Yu Qingjia frowned. “Are you sick?”
Noticing the light blue gift box in her hand, Ming Yin looked puzzled. Seeing Zhizhi in her arms, her gaze sharpened. “You called Xiao Yu?”
Zhizhi, nestled in Yu Qingjia’s arms, flinched, clinging tighter to seem more justified. “It’s your birthday! I wanted Xiao Yu to celebrate with you!”
“Birthday?”
Ming Yin looked at Yu Qingjia, realization dawning seconds later. It was indeed her birthday.
Seeing her recall, Zhizhi grew bolder, hands on her little hips, huffing, “I’m such a good baby, and Mommy doubted me!”
Amused, Ming Yin said, “Sorry, I was confused. My mistake.”
Zhizhi grew anxious. “Are you tired? Want to rest more?”
Ming Yin shook her head, turning to Yu Qingjia with a smile. “Don’t just stand there, come in.”
Handing over the gift, Yu Qingjia said apologetically, “Happy birthday, though you might need something else right now.”
Fingers tightening on the box’s satin ribbon, Ming Yin smiled lightly. “Thanks for the gift. Don’t worry, I’ve seen a doctor.”
Despite the villa’s heating, when Yu Qingjia handed over the gift, Ming Yin’s hand was colder than hers, fresh from outside.
Sitting on the sofa, Ming Yin’s demeanor was soft and casual, with a rare vulnerability. Smiling at Yu Qingjia, she said, “Sit down.”
The housekeeper deftly prepared tea and snacks.
Holding Zhizhi on the sofa, Yu Qingjia eyed Ming Yin’s thin shirt disapprovingly. “If you’re sick, wear more layers.”
“No, I’m not cold. My assistant’s coming to report soon.” Ming Yin said, shaking her head, seeming a bit dazed.
Even in her sluggish state, someone as beautiful as Ming Yin looked charming.
Yu Qingjia said seriously, “Your hands say otherwise.”
“Oh?” Ming Yin laughed, her flushed cheeks looking more natural. “What did they say?”
Caught off guard, Yu Qingjia realized Ming Yin was teasing her. Blinking, she said earnestly, “They said you’re cold.”
Ming Yin laughed, her neat hair falling loosely, accentuating her snowy skin. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Fine, since Director Yu heard them, I’ll add a layer.”
As Ming Yin headed upstairs, Yu Qingjia blinked, dazed, then looked at Zhizhi, whose expression mirrored hers.
“Does Mommy act like this when sick?” Yu Qingjia asked, her tone odd.
Zhizhi shook her head, wide-eyed. “I don’t know.”
Well, this was… quite something.