How To Deal With Being Transmigrated As The Scumbag Ex-Wife - Chapter 38

38: As If Something Were About to Sprout…

Facts proved Mo Lan’s charm far surpassed Qiu Jing’s. Back when Mo Lan was at her peak, Qiu Jing was still an unknown artist. Though Qiu Jing was now a triple-gold award-winning actress, people cherished what was lost and regained even more.

When Mo Lan related topics overtook Qiu Jing’s on the trending list, Qiu Jing’s fans grew upset. Netizens, ready to dive into the fray, were disappointed when the fans suddenly went silent, leaving gossip-hungry onlookers unsatisfied.

Two hours after Yu Qingjia’s Weibo post, Qiu Jing finally responded, reposting Yu Qingjia’s tweet, expressing her love for Director Yu’s work and regret over the failed collaboration, hoping for future opportunities.

Her sincere tone left netizens, expecting drama, feeling unfulfilled. But with Qiu Jing ditching Eternal Life for Eternal Love and Mo Lan, gone for a decade, joining Eternal Life, there was plenty for netizens to dig into.

“Interesting. I wonder if Qiu Jing’s choice was worth it. Honestly, the Second Princess is too unpredictable.”

“If it were me, I’d pick Eternal Love too. Compared to a small role in Eternal Life, it matches Qiu Jing’s status better.”

“Status? Box office, reputation, awards—those matter. The second princess has them all. Look at Han Yan, the silence was a mess.”

“Don’t jinx it. No one’s unbeatable. Before Winter’s Chill, Han Yan was hailed as Fang Linyi’s successor. Yu Qingjia’s still too young.”

Opinions clashed, with no one convincing the other. Ultimately, everyone awaited the showdown between the two films.

…

Compared to Qiu Jing’s evasiveness, Mo Lan was far more cooperative. She rushed to Xinghui to sign the contract that day, expressing she’d take any role and follow the crew’s arrangements.

Yu Qingjia appreciated such a stunning, skilled, and compliant actress.

Eternal Life’s launch press conference was low-key, unlike her past high-profile promotions. Some speculated Yu Qingjia sensed a flop and avoided hype, but most didn’t buy it.

Why continue a project doomed to fail? Wouldn’t they cut losses?

The project persisted because the producers believed it could profit.

So, such claims were dismissed as noise.

After the press conference, Yu Qingjia treated the crew to dinner, a tradition to help actors bond, especially those playing lovers who’d never met before.

Unlike her previous films, most actors were from Tianyue, like male lead Tang Jin, Tianyue’s top star. Only a few roles went to other agencies when no suitable Tianyue actors were found, as they required distinct traits.

Mo Lan drew the most attention. Her indelible mark from her heyday remained, and her return showed little change—except a newfound maturity.

People realized Mo Lan, who rose too young, could’ve been a domestic acting legend if not for her abrupt exit, leaving no room for Qiu Jing.

At the dinner, Yu Qingjia occasionally glanced at Mo Lan. Her beauty was flawless, making Qiu Jing seem plain by comparison.

Recalling the spark in Mo Lan’s eyes during contract signing, Yu Qingjia thought of Yu Qingyi, her mind wandering. She accepted every toast, and by the time she snapped back, her head was spinning.

Noticing Yu Qingjia rubbing her forehead, dizzy, Mo Lan’s eyes flickered. Before she could act, Yu Qingjia called over Xiao Shao, who’d finished eating, and said to the table, “Keep eating. I’m dizzy and heading back.”

As Xiao Shao helped her up, Mo Lan’s grip on her glass tightened, then loosened, repeating before she stayed seated.

“Curious about Director Yu, Sister Mo?” a pleasant voice asked.

Mo Lan snapped back, her gaze landing on a young, pretty girl with cute tiger teeth, her youthful energy making Mo Lan nostalgic.

She had been that young and vibrant once.

…

With Xiao Shao’s help, Yu Qingjia returned to her hotel, drank honey water, and sat dazed on the sofa.

“Ding Dong—”

Her phone’s shrill ring startled her. Turning slowly, she stared at the vibrating device, then sluggishly grabbed it.

Without checking the screen, she tapped the green button, raising it to her ear, only to see the screen go black.

“Hm?”

Thinking her phone malfunctioned, she looked closer, and a soft, round face with brown bear ears popped up, chirping, “Xiao Yu~”

“It’s Xiao Lizhi!” Yu Qingjia laughed at the chubby face, accidentally using Xiao Lizhi’s nickname. Peering at the screen’s empty space, she grinned. “Where’s Yinyin?”

Xiao Lizhi blinked, confused, sensing that Xiao Yu was different. Her smile brightened. “Yinyin’s here too!”

A pale hand wrapped around Xiao Lizhi’s tummy, and Ming Yin appeared beside her. “Something up?”

Seeing Yu Qingjia’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks, Ming Yin’s brows furrowed. “You drank?”

She recalled their bathroom encounter, a faint smile in her eyes.

Noticing her gaze, Yu Qingjia frowned. “What are you smiling at?” Leaning closer to the screen, she heard Xiao Lizhi’s panicked voice, “Can’t see! Can’t see!”

Yu Qingjia leaned back, then, tired of holding the phone, propped it against a cushion. Sprawling on the sofa, chin on her hand, her eyes and brows lazy with amusement, she smirked. “Can you see now?”

Xiao Lizhi blinked, stunned, when the screen went dark. Snapping back, she pushed away the hand blocking her view, shouting, “I can’t see!”

“Enough, you’ve seen Xiao Yu. It’s bedtime.” Ming Yin said, her tone calm but firm.

Yu Qingjia smiled at the duo on the screen. Xiao Lizhi huffed, reaching for the screen, too short to touch it.

Glancing at the oblivious, smiling woman, Ming Yin’s lips tightened. Tossing Xiao Lizhi aside, she rolled out of frame.

Ignoring the protesting squeaks, Ming Yin grabbed the tablet, left the bed, and headed out, leaving a gentle, “Goodnight, Zhizhi. Sleep early.”

Zhizhi: ???

Closing the room door, Ming Yin glanced at the grinning woman onscreen, hurrying to the master bedroom.

The angle framed Ming Yin’s graceful jaw and neck, dazzlingly pale. Yu Qingjia, staring, grew sleepy, her eyelids drooping.

Before she closed her eyes, a refined voice asked, “Qingjia, are you asleep?”

“Hm…” Yu Qingjia looked up dazedly, confused. “What did you call me?”

Ming Yin pursed her lips. “…Director Yu.”

Yu Qingjia’s expression turned serious, brows knitting as she shook her head stubbornly. “No, you called me Qingjia.”

Her silly demeanor made Ming Yin smile. She’d expected resistance, but Yu Qingjia wasn’t entirely unmoved.

Then, Yu Qingjia shook her head firmly. “You can’t call me that. We can’t be.”

Ming Yin’s smile froze, her eyes lowering. “Why?”

“I might disappear, like a little fish.” Yu Qingjia said, her arm tiring. Switching positions, she rested her chin on folded hands, tilting her head at the screen. “Find someone you like, okay?”

Ming Yin watched the woman with messy short hair, asking, “If you don’t disappear?”

“Hm?” Yu Qingjia blinked, dazed. “Talk when I’m forty.”

Forty… thirteen years away.

Ming Yin bit her tongue, her heart tightening. “Do you have someone you like?”

“Like…” Yu Qingjia’s eyes drooped, lids closing, breathing softening.

Waiting for an answer, Ming Yin noticed her stillness and faint breathing. “Xiao Yu?”

Her pretty brows furrowed, but she didn’t stir. Ming Yin called again, “Xiao Yu… Qingjia?”

The persistent voice roused Yu Qingjia. Struggling, she opened her eyes, seeing only a blurry figure onscreen through a foggy haze. Blinking, her lids fell again.

Despite the hotel’s heating, Yu Qingjia, lightly dressed and drunk, would rest poorly on the sofa, feeling awful tomorrow.

Ming Yin kept calling until Yu Qingjia, annoyed, lifted her lids. “What?”

Her grumpy, slightly aggrieved tone quickened Ming Yin’s pulse. Suppressing her restlessness, she said softly, “Sleep on the bed, not on the sofa, okay?”

Giving up, Yu Qingjia rubbed her aching forehead, dragging herself up. Her movement gave a clear view to someone watching. Unaware, she slumped against the sofa, dazed, until Ming Yin, thinking she’d dozed off, called again. Irritated, she glanced at the phone. “I’m not asleep.”

Ming Yin chuckled as Yu Qingjia grabbed the phone, stumbling to the bedroom. The shaky screen showed her unsteady steps, but she made it to bed safely.

Tossing the phone aside, she climbed in, hugging the blanket without turning off the light.

Gazing at her half-buried face, Ming Yin studied her closely—curly short hair on creamy skin, thick lashes casting shadows, a delicate nose pressed against the pillow, pink lips…

Her eyes lingered on those beautifully shaped lips, slightly pouted as if begging for a kiss.

Ming Yin’s gaze flickered. Propping the tablet against a pillow, she lay down, turning to see that serene, beautiful face, as if… sleeping beside her.

A rush of heat surged. Ming Yin pressed her chest, feeling her strong heartbeat, as if something were about to sprout.

Glancing at the screen, she found her actions foolish. About to end the call, her warm fingertip brushed the screen, as if touching Yu Qingjia’s nose. A flicker of struggle crossed her eyes, but she couldn’t press the button.

Sighing softly, she recalled Yu Qingjia’s “forty” comment, closed her eyes briefly, then silently activated screen recording.

…

“Ugh…” Yu Qingjia woke up groggy, slowly recalling she had drunk too much. She vaguely remembered Xiao Lizhi’s video call, then Ming Yin cutting it short, likely ending it.

If Ming Yin hung up, she might’ve done something foolish. Annoyed, she smacked her forehead, hoping she hadn’t scared Xiao Lizhi. The motion brought a whiff of alcohol, making her nauseous.

Checking the time, still early, she decided to ask Ming Yin what happened. Her phone was dead, so she plugged it in, planning to chat after a shower.

Post-shower, refreshed with a peachy scent, she returned to find her phone half-charged and on. Checking messages, nothing major happened, but opening Ming Yin’s WeChat, she saw: “Video call ended, duration 3:17:42.”

Yu Qingjia: ???

Three hours of video with Ming Yin, and she remembered nothing?

Pinching her face to wake up, she realized why her phone died. Three hours drained it.

She sent Ming Yin a message:

“Yu Qingjia: Did I do anything rude last night?”
“Yu Qingjia: Sorry, I drank too much at the launch dinner.”

After sending, she changed to start work.

It was Eternal Life’s first shooting day, and the crew needed to gel—busyness was inevitable.

B City Shooting Base

“Who left this table here? Move it!”

“Flatten the green screen—no creases or shadows, or post-production can’t key it properly.”

“Lights! Lights!”

Yu Qingjia calmly directed the crew. VFX blockbusters differed from standard films, demanding precise lighting to mimic seasonal changes and align with post-production for seamless composites, or the final cut would look off.

Each team worked methodically. Zhuang Peng, a directing graduate, grasped Yu Qingjia’s vision, assisting with crew guidance.

For Eternal Life, Zhuang Peng, as a screenwriter, followed the shoot to discuss characters or tweak scripts. Yu Qingjia also aimed to mentor him.

If Eternal Life succeeded, the mythological universe could take shape. As an original creator, Zhuang Peng understood its core, and with nurturing, he could helm sequels without her.

Unaware of her plan, Zhuang Peng hesitated to bother her with questions. Busy as she was, Yu Qingjia patiently asked if he had issues, explaining gently until he understood, then resumed adjusting lights.

Grateful, Zhuang Peng caught her intent.

The first actor on set was Mo Lan. Seeing the bustling crew, her light brown eyes sparkled, her smile softening.

“Morning, Sister Mo!”

“Sister Mo’s here!”

“Hey, Sister Mo.”

Staff greeted her warmly, energized by her radiant smile.

Mo Lan’s grin widened. Scanning the warehouse-turned-set, draped in green screens, she blinked curiously. She had seen a green screen tech on TV but never worked with it—her first time, despite her few scenes.

Spotting a tall figure by the lighting team, Mo Lan recalled online rumors:

Director Yu liked women, flash-married and divorced Pan Xing, showing how fast she fell in and out of love…

Sensing a gaze, Yu Qingjia turned, meeting Mo Lan’s eyes. Unfazed, she smiled warmly. “You’re here early.”

Mo Lan, who entered the industry young, noted Yu Qingjia’s clear, untainted gaze—pure appreciation, like admiring a fine store display.

Relief or regret stirred within her.

Clenching her palm, Mo Lan smiled gently. “Haven’t acted in years. I wanted to get a feel.”

Her role had only six scenes, none today.

Yu Qingjia didn’t find her pretentious. After a decade away, Mo Lan’s eagerness to act was natural—she’d seize any chance.

Smiling, Yu Qingjia said, “Take your time. I’m expecting your performance.”

She had to tweak the lighting plan, and had no time to chat.

…

“All teams, ready! Action!”

“Eternal Life, Scene 13, Shot 2, Take 1. Start!”

Clap!

…

The day’s shoot was heavy. Despite the actors’ efforts, their first time with extensive green screen work affected their performances, which didn’t pass muster.

By lunch, little progress was made. Yu Qingjia called a break, resuming in the afternoon.

Grabbing a boxed meal, she remembered messaging Ming Yin. Checking WeChat, she saw Ming Yin’s morning reply, unnoticed amid her busy set.

“Ming Yin: It’s fine, you weren’t rude.”
“Ming Yin: We chatted briefly, then you got sleepy. I forgot to end the call, so it ran long.”
“Ming Yin: Don’t worry.”
“Ming Yin: Also, don’t lean forward in low-cut tops.”

Relieved by the first messages, Yu Qingjia nearly choked on the last.

She’d worn a low-cut shirt yesterday. Leaning forward would’ve…

Embarrassed, she tossed her phone aside, trying to erase the memory, but sent Ming Yin a reply:

“Yu Qingjia: Got it.”

…

Mingyue Building Headquarters

“Yu Qingjia: Got it.”

Seeing the message, Ming Yin’s brows furrowed slightly. She’d expected some reaction, but Yu Qingjia replied so calmly.

Was her hint too subtle?

Pondering the message, recalling Yu Qingjia’s “forty” comment, she resisted prodding further.

Too forward, and Yu Qingjia might retreat further.

As she mused, a knock came:

Knock knock—

Ming Yin calmly closed her phone. Lin, her assistant, entered.

Standing at the desk, Lin’s gaze was cold. “President Ming, everything’s set.”

Ming Yin nodded, her dark eyes glinting coldly, her tone low. “Good. Begin.”

Lin, outwardly calm, nodded seriously. “Yes, President Ming.” Inside, her excitement screamed to the heavens.

President Ming, betrayed twice, was finally striking back at Shen Ru!