How To Deal With Being Transmigrated As The Scumbag Ex-Wife - Chapter 36

36: “You Can’t Hold It Against Me.”

The rain intensified, a milky mist rising in the air, veiling the distant lake view in a hazy shimmer. The temperature difference between indoors and out painted whimsical patterns on the windows.

“It’s raining so much!”

Xiao Lizhi marveled, her soft body leaning against Yu Qingjia’s leg, bonelessly relaxed.

Snapped out of her reverie, Yu Qingjia chuckled at the child’s milky exclamation. She ruffled Xiao Lizhi’s hair. “The view outside is pretty.”

Xiao Lizhi puffed her cheeks, about to speak, when she noticed her breath fogging the window into a white “canvas.” Excited, she pressed her round face against it, leaving odd imprints.

Giggling at her face’s mark, she tugged Yu Qingjia to show her. “That’s my face!”

Looking at the strange pattern, Yu Qingjia pinched Xiao Lizhi’s soft, slightly cool cheek, her tone helpless. “Careful, you’ll catch a cold.”

Xiao Lizhi mumbled agreement, then huffed another breath on the window, ready to try again. Yu Qingjia gently held her head, stopping her. Sticking out her tongue, Xiao Lizhi eagerly wrote on the fogged glass instead.

Descending the stairs in a light coat, Ming Yin didn’t hear the living room’s chatter. Looking up, she saw a tall, slender figure by the floor-to-ceiling window, beside a tiny one barely reaching her thigh. The small one, thrilled, tugged at the taller hand. She bent to inspect the window, smiling sideways.

Ming Yin watched quietly, her gaze softening.

Smiling at Xiao Lizhi’s scrawled “Yu,” Yu Qingjia caught a figure in her peripheral vision. Turning, she saw Ming Yin leaning on the staircase railing, seemingly there for a while.

Noticing her coat, Yu Qingjia asked, “Why are you standing there? Feeling dizzy?”

Xiao Lizhi, engrossed in writing, froze and asked anxiously, “Mommy, do you need a doctor?”

A wave of helplessness washed over Ming Yin, but her face softened with a gentle smile. “No, just thinking about something.”

Yu Qingjia raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry. Gazing at the misty lake, she said, “Nice view here.”

A slightly hoarse, pleasant voice replied, “If you want to see it every day, you’re welcome to.”

Yu Qingjia faltered, meeting Xiao Lizhi’s hopeful, wide eyes.

Yu Qingjia: “…”

She shouldn’t have come. Who knew a sick Ming Yin would drop her usual polite distance, even teasing?

Rubbing Xiao Lizhi’s head, she said to Ming Yin, “Don’t say things like that. You know I can’t.”

Xiao Lizhi’s eyes drooped, her imaginary ears seeming to flop like an abandoned kitten’s.

Ming Yin didn’t press. She casually reclined on the sofa, propping her head, gazing at Yu Qingjia. Her silky black hair cascaded, revealing a glimpse of her delicate, pale earlobe.

Being watched so quietly, Yu Qingjia felt a feather-like tickle in her heart. Her throat dry, she subtly shifted her gaze, changing the topic. “If Xiao Lizhi hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have known it’s your birthday. Sorry about that.”

Ming Yin’s lazy demeanor turned serious. Under her gaze, Xiao Lizhi shrank closer to Yu Qingjia’s leg, guiltily fidgeting without a word.

The sudden shift puzzled Yu Qingjia. She instinctively hugged Xiao Lizhi’s shoulders, about to ask, when Ming Yin said sternly, “Didn’t I say you can’t get too close while I’m sick?”

Xiao Lizhi squirmed, mumbling, “I just grabbed the phone. I didn’t stay long…”

Yu Qingjia realized Xiao Lizhi had snuck in to get the phone while Ming Yin rested, worried about passing on her illness.

Seeing Ming Yin’s cool gaze, Yu Qingjia said, “She just wanted to surprise you. You’re looking out for her—talk it out, don’t be mad.”

Emboldened, Xiao Lizhi flashed Ming Yin a sweet, childlike smile, trying to charm her way through.

Ming Yin’s expression cracked, and she gave a helpless smile, glancing at Yu Qingjia. “I haven’t said anything, and you’re already defending her. If you were Zhizhi’s—”

Yu Qingjia cut her off, her tone disapproving. “Ming Yin.”

Ming Yin paused, and the living room fell silent. The pattering rain carried autumn’s chill, freezing the atmosphere. Xiao Lizhi, uneasy, fiddled with her fingers, glancing between them.

Ming Yin stared expressionlessly at Yu Qingjia, who met her gaze, sighing inwardly.

If Ming Yin kept saying such things, she’d have to distance herself from Xiao Lizhi entirely to cut off Ming Yin’s hopes.

“I—” Before she could say “should go,” Ming Yin interjected, “I’m sick.”

The abrupt shift caught Yu Qingjia off guard. Ming Yin’s calm, emotionless voice continued, “You can’t hold it against me.”

Yu Qingjia: “…”

Was Ming Yin… acting coy?

Her expression was incredulous. Ming Yin remained impassive, eyes downcast, like a small creature in the shadows yearning for light yet fearing its sting.

Unsure why she thought this, Yu Qingjia’s heart softened.

It was Ming Yin’s birthday, yet she hadn’t realized it. No family care, no friends’ blessings—if Xiao Lizhi hadn’t called, Ming Yin might’ve only remembered post-work.

Yu Qingjia sat across from her. “Fine, it’s your birthday. Gotta have longevity noodles, right?”

Ming Yin’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes lit up.

Xiao Lizhi cheered, rushing to Yu Qingjia’s side. Mindful of Ming Yin’s warning, she shouted excitedly, “And a little cake!”

Yu Qingjia looked at Ming Yin, who nodded slightly. Understanding, she stood. “Let’s check the kitchen.”

Watching her, Ming Yin’s eyes held a gentle smile.

…

By 9 p.m., Xiao Lizhi was nodding off, her head bobbing like a pecking chick.

Yu Qingjia glanced at the time. “It’s late. You should rest, you’re still sick.”

Ming Yin shook her head. She’d napped after medicine and wasn’t sleepy. Looking at Yu Qingjia, she asked, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Well…” Yu Qingjia considered her schedule. With Eternal Life just greenlit, she wasn’t swamped. Before she could respond, Ming Yin said, “If you’re not busy, stay. It’s pouring, and we have a room for you.”

Before Yu Qingjia could protest being called “not busy,” she realized arguing seemed petty.

Ming Yin stood, her tone gentle. “Help me carry Zhizhi to her room.”

Yu Qingjia instinctively scooped up the drowsy Xiao Lizhi. Touching her, she realized she’d implicitly agreed to stay.

Pausing, she looked at Ming Yin, who said frankly, “I’m sick and don’t want to risk infecting her. Please.”

Fair enough.

Silently, Yu Qingjia carried Xiao Lizhi, who stirred, saw her, and snuggled into her neck, finding a comfy spot to sleep.

Ming Yin led the way, Yu Qingjia following, her gaze falling on Ming Yin’s slender, swan-like neck, fragile yet alluring, like a blooming rose exuding a subtle, captivating scent.

A faint fragrance hit her nose, and Yu Qingjia’s thoughts wandered.

When Ming Yin stopped, Yu Qingjia snapped back, her heart racing. She reined in her gaze, about to ask why they stopped, when she saw an open bedroom door to her right.

“Is this Xiao Lizhi’s room?” she asked, forgetting to lower her voice. Xiao Lizhi squirmed in protest. Annoyed at herself, Yu Qingjia shut her mouth, only to meet Ming Yin’s amused eyes.

Was she laughing?

Wanting to confirm, she saw Ming Yin’s gentle gaze, slightly puzzled, as if wondering why Yu Qingjia stared.

Probably her imagination.

Brushing it off, Yu Qingjia carried Xiao Lizhi into the children’s room. Cloud-patterned light blue wallpaper adorned the walls, a starry ceiling light added whimsy, and cute plushies sat in the corner. A thick wool carpet made the room warm and sweet.

Laying Xiao Lizhi on the bed, she stirred, kissed Yu Qingjia’s cheek, and mumbled sleepily, “Goodnight, Xiao Yu. Goodnight, Mommy.” She burrowed into the blanket, a small lump fast asleep.

Yu Qingjia left a nightlight on and quietly closed the door.

“Thanks.” Ming Yin said softly. “Tired? Want to rest?”

It was only 9 p.m., Yu Qingjia often worked past midnight and wasn’t sleepy.

Seeing her clear, bright eyes, Ming Yin headed downstairs, glancing back. “If you’re not tired, chat with me.”

Back in the living room, Ming Yin settled into a single sofa. “Heard your new project’s greenlit. Not taking a break?”

Yu Qingjia grabbed a cushion. “I’d love to, but resting makes my mind wander.”

Her gaze lingered on the cushion, her silence radiating intense loneliness, as if she didn’t belong here.

Ming Yin’s brow furrowed subtly, her tone casual. “How so?”

Yu Qingjia didn’t answer. It was a secret she couldn’t share, perhaps forever buried. She smiled. “Enough about me. You’re just as busy.”

Noticing her deflection, Ming Yin’s eyes lowered, hiding a shadow, her tone natural. “Always been this way. But you, you never rest.”

Yu Qingjia’s brows knitted, but before she could speak, Ming Yin added, “Look Up, not hitting 1 billion is a pity.”

Relieved she didn’t press, Yu Qingjia relaxed, hugging the cushion lazily. “This result already exceeded my expectations. Everyone’s been supportive.” Smiling, she added, “You didn’t just want to talk about this, right?”

Ming Yin adjusted her posture, unfazed by the blunt question. “Working with Pan Xing again for the new film?”

Unsure why she asked, Yu Qingjia replied, “Maybe, it depends on her schedule, and…”

Eternal Life’s lead was a male, with the female roles secondary at best. The old Pan Xing might’ve taken it, but with awards now, it felt beneath her.

Plus, Yu Qingjia had her own considerations. She didn’t want to ride Pan Xing’s star power—she wanted success on her own merit, not under Pan Xing’s halo.

“She’s a great actress.” Ming Yin said evenly, her eyes less calm. “Planning to keep making it up to her?”

Yu Qingjia paused, then smiled. “Can’t help it. In a way, I owe her.”

Ming Yin’s brow furrowed in displeasure. “What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with you.”

She disliked Yu Qingjia’s entanglement with Pan Xing. Deeply.

Knowing her point, Yu Qingjia just smiled. “It has already happened. I’m involved, how can it not?”

“We’re both victims,” Ming Yin said coldly. “You shouldn’t punish yourself for others’ mistakes.”

Yu Qingjia shook her head, not engaging.

Seeing her reluctance, Ming Yin didn’t push, shifting topics. “Your sister contacted me about Shen Ru.”

At “Shen Ru,” Yu Qingjia’s expression turned serious, a faint disgust in her eyes. “Any plans?”

Noticing her distaste, Ming Yin’s lips tightened, her tone chilly. “I’m preparing a big gift for her.”

Shen Ru liked playing dirty tricks?

She’d play along to the end.

As Eternal Life’s preparations progressed, Yu Qingjia couldn’t find a suitable domestic VFX company. She planned to fly to Liguo with her team to contact DL, the industry’s top VFX firm. But before they left, Manager Zhang reported a new VFX company, Digital Light, heard her requirements and claimed they could meet them.

Digital Light sounded legit, but their actual ability needed verification.

Yu Qingjia visited their office with her team. The staff was small, but their equipment was top-notch, even surpassing what major domestic VFX firms had.

After brief talks, she learned two founders were ex-DL VFX artists, one having worked on Super Cute Pets. Noticing the domestic VFX industry’s lag during a holiday visit, they quit DL to start Digital Light.

Hearing Yu Qingjia’s film required extensive VFX, which other domestic firms couldn’t handle, they contacted Xinghui, confident in their experience and tech.

Wanting a domestic company, Yu Qingjia confirmed Digital Light’s capabilities and quickly struck a deal.

With VFX settled, Eternal Life’s casting began.

Yu Qingjia hesitated about casting solely from Tianyue. While many roles would likely go to Tianyue actors, some required external talent, as no one in Tianyue fit certain parts.

One such role was Fairy Ruyi, with limited scenes but demanding stunning presence and high aesthetic standards.

Tianyue’s only suitable actress was booked solid and uninterested in a minor role. Yu Qingjia understood, why would a top-tier star play a supporting part for someone less famous?

Thus, she expanded the casting call.

The news drew a flood of applicants, from reigning A-list actresses to long-dormant talents. The “Fairy Ruyi” auditions spanned two days.

Afterward, Yu Qingjia narrowed it to two: A-list actress Qiu Jing and faded star Mo Lan.

Qiu Jing, a triple-award winner and former “national first love,” excelled in acting and looks.

Mo Lan, a self-taught talent with natural charisma and striking beauty, skyrocketed at debut but vanished after scandals.

Rumors swirled—some said she married a tycoon and retired, others claimed she became a monk.

Reading Mo Lan’s audition application, Yu Qingjia learned she’d been banned, with the restriction just lifted.

“Director Yu, this role was made for Mo Lan.” Zhuang Peng insisted. Her ethereal, otherworldly aura was unmatched—Fairy Ruyi came to life.

Yu Qingjia set down Mo Lan’s form, checking Qiu Jing’s instead. “I don’t need to be tailor-made. Actors adapt to roles.”

Seeing her choose Qiu Jing, Zhuang Peng bristled. “But Qiu Jing’s with Huayue!”

Huayue had poached three Tianyue directors—less talented ones, mocked for it, but the grudge lingered. Why use a Huayue actress after they targeted Tianyue?

Noticing his confusion, Jiang Yan said, “Actors aren’t their companies. She auditioned, rejecting her over company disputes isn’t fair.”

Zhuang Peng, still frustrated, muttered, “Qiu Jing lacks Mo Lan’s unique aura.”

For that aura, Ming Yin would fit better than either.

The thought crossed Yu Qingjia’s mind. She said, “Mo Lan’s ban has just been lifted. We don’t know why she was banned. Qiu Jing’s safer.”

“Ban” hit Zhuang Peng like cold water. He slumped, dejected.

Other factors aside, this was non-negotiable. The film’s ambitions were risky—they had to be cautious, and Mo Lan was less secure than Qiu Jing.

With roles tentatively set, Yu Qingjia had the assistant director notify actors to sign contracts at Xinghui.

Qiu Jing, surprised to land the role, thanked Yu Qingjia on Weibo, tagging her. Yu Qingjia replied politely, wishing for a pleasant collaboration.

Their interaction blew up online:

“Holy crap, Qiu Jing’s with Huayue? The second Princess is working with her?!”

“Awesome, using Huayue’s actress? That’s big of her. /Like”

“Did I read this wrong? Huayue tried poaching Tianyue’s talent, and the Second Princess isn’t mad—she’s using their actress?”

“Props to the Second Princess. Actors stuck with companies like Huayue can’t afford breach fees. What can they do? The poaching wasn’t their fault. /Nose pick”

As “Qiu Jing joins Yu Qingjia’s new film” trended, someone leaked that Eternal Life was a VFX-heavy myth adaptation, sparking a tidal wave online:

A mythic special effects blockbuster?