How To Deal With Being Transmigrated As The Scumbag Ex-Wife - Chapter 43

43: Film Roundtable and Disillusionment

Seeing Ming Yin’s statement, Yu Qingjia was surprised but undeniably pleased. After all, someone had publicly taken her side.

The buzz about their “romance” had just died down, and now Ming Yin openly criticized Jinhua’s unfairness. This was her first clear stance on Weibo, where she rarely posted—her last tweet was a New Year’s greeting from last year. This made even skeptics of their relationship waver.

Ming Yin was the first public figure, aside from Tianyue, to back Yu Qingjia. If that wasn’t a connection, what was?

“Wow, I’m all in for MingJia! President Ming is so badass!”

“Awesome, is this an official announcement?”

“I’m Team YuYin! The second Princess is breaking the sky with her coolness!”

With Ming Yin’s statement, the issue gained more traction. Even netizens who’d moved on learned that Gaspard, the father of Xiguo cinema, praised Yu Qingjia. Compared to Jinhua judges’ obsession with European films, the irony was laughable.

“How are Zhang Daosheng and crew feeling now? The person they suppressed got praised by a big shot. Does their face hurt?”

“Hahahaha, Jinhua’s last shred of dignity got ripped off. If they’d apologized earlier, it wouldn’t be this bad. Now their faces are swollen! /Munching popcorn”

“I don’t get their judging criteria. Look Up’s visuals stunned me, so satisfying. If I hadn’t seen it, Zhou Jin’s win wouldn’t bother me. But with Look Up out there, this award is unconvincing.”

Despite being called out, Jinhua stayed silent. The judges even closed their Weibo comment sections, acting untouchable.

Yu Qingjia wasn’t surprised. It’d be odd if they admitted fault. Even with their faces metaphorically slapped, they wouldn’t abandon their pride. They might even question Gaspard’s taste, thinking it’s declined.

Taking advantage of Ming Yin’s free time, Yu Qingjia called her.

Fiddling with a green plant on the table, she said, “Thanks for this, but you don’t need to take it to heart.”

“Some stances need to be taken,” Ming Yin replied with a light laugh. “I meant to call, but I’ve been swamped. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Yu Qingjia’s curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

“A Film Roundtable invitation,” Ming Yin said.

Film Roundtable?

Yu Qingjia paused. She’d never heard of it, but it sounded like a discussion group for films.

Sensing her confusion, Ming Yin explained, “It’s a roundtable talk organized by film enthusiasts. I think it’ll be helpful for you.”

Film enthusiasts… organizing a roundtable?

Mingyue Building, President’s Office

Yu Qingjia knocked lightly and entered, seeing Ming Yin look up from her desk. “You’re here.” Ming Yin said warmly. “Sit for a bit. Once I finish this document, we’ll grab lunch.”

“Sure, take your time.” Yu Qingjia closed the door and sat on the sofa where Xiao Lizhi loved to curl up. Scanning the office, her gaze drifted to the woman behind the desk.

Noticing her stare, Ming Yin glanced up, smiling faintly.

“!”

Yu Qingjia blinked, returning a smile before casually looking away.

Seeing her turn, Ming Yin wasn’t fazed; her smile deepened. She chuckled silently, focusing back on her document.

Yu Qingjia thought she could handle Ming Yin calmly, but it wasn’t as easy as imagined.

Grabbing a cushion, she noticed a pink notebook peeking out—cute and childish, likely Xiao Lizhi’s. Flipping through, she saw colorful, playful drawings, as adorable as their owner.

Amused, she heard Ming Yin’s clear voice. “Sorry for the wait. Let’s go.”

“Oh?” Yu Qingjia realized Ming Yin was done. As she closed the notebook, the back page sliced her finger, a bead of bl00d forming.

“Hiss—”

She winced, checking the notebook. The last page, poorly bound, had a sharp edge.

“What’s wrong?” Ming Yin hurried over, grabbing her hand. Seeing the bl00d, she frowned. “How’d this happen?”

“It’s no big deal,” Yu Qingjia said, trying to pull back. “The notebook’s edge is sharp.”

As Ming Yin rummaged through a cabinet, Yu Qingjia teased, “My fault for touching Xiao Lizhi’s stuff without permission. I deserved it.”

Ming Yin shot her a disapproving look. Yu Qingjia dropped her smile. “Okay, it’s not a big deal. Let’s eat, I’m hungry.”

“Bandage first, then eat,” Ming Yin said gently but firmly.

It was a minor cut that’d heal quickly. Yu Qingjia didn’t care, but seeing the pink cat bandage in Ming Yin’s hand, she laughed. “Is this Xiao Lizhi’s?”

Reaching for it, Ming Yin dodged her hand. Before Yu Qingjia could speak, Ming Yin gently held her wrist, exposing the cut. Warm breath brushed her finger, slightly ticklish.

Ming Yin’s head dipped, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder. A faint, elegant fragrance filled Yu Qingjia’s senses. Ming Yin peeled the bandage, carefully wrapping the wound.

Watching her gentle movements, Yu Qingjia’s cheeks warmed. She forced herself to look away, but Ming Yin said, “Done. Be less careless, Zhizhi has never cut herself.”

Compared to a kid? Yu Qingjia retorted, “That’s not fair. Little Lychee’s hands are softer. Get her a new notebook, or she’ll get hurt.”

Ming Yin’s gaze fell on the notebook, her expression unreadable.

That notebook…

Noticing Ming Yin’s silence, Yu Qingjia asked, “What’s wrong?”

Ming Yin looked back, her eyes warm and smiling. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

…

Back home with the plain-looking invitation, Yu Qingjia searched its logo online. Seeing the list of titles and positions, she fell silent.

She hadn’t known such a niche group existed in China. Their low profile suggested a genuine discussion forum.

Curious, and since Ming Yin valued it enough to get her an invite, she decided to check it out.

Her gaze fell on her bandaged finger, the cute pink cat smiling at her. She recalled Ming Yin’s focused expression, a smile creeping onto her face.

But she snapped out of it, lightly slapping her cheeks. Feeling the warmth, she tried to clear her mind.

Some things were off-limits, crossing them would cause harm.

Following the invitation’s address, Yu Qingjia found a teahouse near Yunwu Mountain. It looked ordinary, who’d guess it hosted a film discussion?

As she stepped forward, an older woman with a handbag approached. Dressed simply but with a warm, refined air, she looked surprised, then smiled kindly. “So, you’re the young friend joining us today.”

The original Yu Qingjia wasn’t from a performing arts background and wouldn’t know industry scholars. Yu Qingjia had no memory of this woman but, seeing her appreciative gaze, smiled. “Hello, how should I address you?”

The woman smiled gently, leading her inside. “My surname’s Shen. Call me Aunt Shen.”

Shen—

Yu Qingjia discreetly recalled scholars with that surname but drew a blank. Politely, she asked, “Aunt Shen, what’s this Film Roundtable about?”

Aunt Shen laughed. “Just a bunch of old folks with nothing to do, chatting over tea on weekends. Having a young person join is nice, it keeps us in touch with current trends.”

“Trends are fleeting; culture is eternal,” Yu Qingjia said, following Aunt Shen upstairs. The teahouse was nearly empty, with open private rooms but no guests.

Aunt Shen looked surprised, her smile widening. “Exactly. Culture never goes out of style.”

At the corridor’s end, voices argued about “long takes” and “anti-narrative.”

Yu Qingjia raised an eyebrow. Definitely a film enthusiasts’ discussion, only they’d know those terms.

“Those two old guys are stubborn and always bicker. Don’t mind them,” Aunt Shen said kindly, opening the private room’s door.

A sweet aroma of food and faint tea fragrance hit her. Yu Qingjia’s attention went to an unfamiliar pastry on the table, then to the room’s occupants.

Only three people, their average age triple hers—she was indeed the “kid.”

The arguing elders paused, noticing her behind Aunt Shen. A lean, sharp-eyed man with an authoritative air asked, “Who invited this girl?”

“Me,” said a silver-haired woman, nibbling a pastry leisurely. “Her two films are interesting, so I brought her to show you—stop saying young directors are hopeless.”

Yu Qingjia glanced at the woman. Despite her silver hair, she was well-preserved, clearly a beauty in her youth.

The lean man scrutinized her. “Didn’t you say we should build our own film industry?”

“Of course,” Yu Qingjia replied. “Only a film industry chain can ensure stable, rapid growth. That way, projects continue regardless of who’s missing.”

“Bullshit!” a short, stout elder snapped. “Industrialization, is that still art?”

His reaction reminded her of Zhao Xian’s crowd, obsessed with film as art. She wasn’t offended, everyone had their pursuits. As long as they weren’t extreme, she could discuss calmly. Sitting down, she said, “Art can’t survive without an economic base. For the film industry to thrive, it needs industrialization. Otherwise, are filmmakers supposed to run on passion?”

The lean elder smiled. “Even the kid gets it. Why’re you so stubborn with age?”

“Don’t you know what capital’s like?” the stout elder retorted. “Look at Bi Yan’s shitty youth film. Capital doesn’t care if you live or die—they want money, profit!”

Realizing he might’ve misspoken, he turned to Yu Qingjia stiffly. “I wasn’t talking about you, don’t take it personally.”

She chuckled, unfazed. “Trust the audience’s taste. They can tell good films from trash. That youth trilogy you mentioned? Audiences trashed it too.”

Knowing he disliked capital, she avoided the topic. As Tianyue’s chairman’s daughter, her words lacked weight here. Instead, she shifted to industrialization. “Audiences watch films to relax, have fun. Industrialization lets us blend our culture into films. We’re not aiming to export yet, but it can counter the cultural impact of foreign blockbusters.”

Audiences loved Hollywood for its excitement and tight storytelling, but over time, its values and culture subtly influenced viewers—a form of cultural invasion.

At “culture,” everyone’s expressions turned serious. The stout elder, previously irritable, pondered her words, nodding slightly. “Makes sense. You’re young but sharp.”

With that, Yu Qingjia officially joined the Film Roundtable.

During introductions, she learned they were cultural scholars. The silver-haired woman was Aunt Song, the lean man Uncle Pei, and the art-obsessed elder Uncle Li.

The handwritten invitation’s author missed the meeting due to a sick grandson.

They seemed like retired old folks, but their sharp analysis of her films impressed her.

Initially there to network, Yu Qingjia changed her mind. Their deep cultural insight showed her that constantly outputting without learning would stagnate her work, leaving her treading water forever.

Discussing Look Up’s short designs, she gained much. While pondering negative space, Uncle Li suddenly asked, “You really don’t care about the Jinhua thing? Lots of people value that award.”

“Huh?” Yu Qingjia paused, smiling helplessly. “I don’t. I can afford not to, but others can’t.”

Her current strength only shielded her from harm.

If Tianyue’s cinematic universe succeeded, things would change.

Aunt Song, knitting with Aunt Shen, looked up. “They think they’re hot stuff. Let them keep screwing up, they’ll crash eventually.”

“That’s not right. Problems need fixing,” Uncle Pei said sternly. “Lose credibility, and the award loses meaning!”

Uncle Li cut him off impatiently. “I’m not talking to you! I’m asking the kid.”

Uncle Pei’s face shifted, ready to argue. Yu Qingjia, used to their bickering, jumped in. “I don’t care. Films aren’t made for them, audience love is enough.”

Her words softened their expressions. Uncle Pei nodded approvingly. “Well said. That’s the right mindset.”

Uncle Li shushed him. “Mindset? You’re retired but still acting superior.”

They bickered again. Yu Qingjia, amused yet exasperated, thought of Ming Yin. She’d done her a huge favor, how could she thank her?

With Jinhua’s silence, the controversy faded, but netizens remembered the judges’ ugly tactics. Jinhua’s trophy became a meme, its prestige gone, now a laughable “wild chicken award.” The “three golds” became “two golds, one chicken.”

Yu Qingjia, often invited for magazine interviews, suddenly faced a dry spell. She knew why—it was like being blacklisted, but she didn’t care. As a director, not an idol, it didn’t hurt her core interests.

Digital Light VFX Studio

After reviewing the VFX team’s sample, Yu Qingjia gave detailed feedback. Unlike her calm, the post-production team buzzed excitedly:

“My God, did we make this? It’s amazing! Way better than Super Cute Pets!”

“This clip gave me chills! This is the VFX blockbuster we love!”

“It’ll be a milestone for domestic VFX films!”

Their enthusiasm amused her, but she didn’t dampen it. Domestic VFX companies, long undervalued due to commercial film bias, struggled to grow. By her standards, the effects were slightly subpar compared to her past life, but given current tech, they were top-tier.

After finalizing revisions, she prepared to leave Digital Light when her phone rang.

Seeing Liu Ming’s name, she recalled Liu mentioning a penguin project, stirring an odd feeling.

Ignoring it, she answered.

A familiar, gentle voice rushed out. “Xiao Yu?”

The tone hit like a hammer. Yu Qingjia froze, eyes welling up. Her throat tightened, voice barely coming out.

Swallowing hard, she steadied herself, heart pounding. “Liu Ming?”

Liu Ming sighed in relief. “It’s me!”

Her friend Liu Ming!

Yu Qingjia never imagined she’d be in this world too!

Liu’s voice was urgent, excited. “I knew it was you. How else would Look Up exist here?”

Overwhelmed with a familiar friend, Yu Qingjia had so much to say. Seeing her reflection in a glass window, she composed herself, whispering, “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

After setting a meeting spot, she hung up, beaming.

The VFX team, noting her calm earlier, wondered why a call excited her so much.

Lost in thoughts of her old world, Yu Qingjia ignored their looks, saying she had an urgent matter and drove off.

…

Liu Ming rented a small apartment near the film city. Yu Qingjia went straight there.

When Liu opened the door, one glance confirmed she was her old roommate. Yu Qingjia’s composure broke. She hugged her, voice trembling. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Liu hugged back, glancing outside before pulling her in and closing the door. “I didn’t expect this either. How long have you been here?”

Looking at her friend, Yu Qingjia’s eyes teared up. “Over a year.”

Liu shook her head, chuckling. “A year and two films? Still a workaholic.” She handed her a tissue. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It’s been fuzzy until I woke up recently.”

Woke up?

The phrase surprised Yu Qingjia, but she didn’t dwell on it, asking, “When did you get here? Do you know… how things are back there?”

What was her body’s state? Was her family okay?

If Liu arrived later, as a known director, any incident would’ve made news.

As if expecting this, Liu’s expression grew complex. Patting her shoulder, she said softly, “I saw news that you passed away suddenly in a hotel. I meant to attend your funeral, but…”

Passed away… in a hotel?

Yu Qingjia’s mind blanked, not hearing the rest. She’d prepared for it, but hearing it confirmed still brought tears.

Waking up in this world, she should’ve known. She’d just clung to hope.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped her tears. “What about you? How’d you end up here?”

Liu’s smile faltered, her eyes betraying everything. “I’m not sure, but probably…”

Yu Qingjia fell silent. Both of them, caught in this?

“But it’s kind of lucky, living on in another form, same face, same name,” Liu said, comforting her. “Your family seems the same, except Little Yu is now Big Yu?” Her tone turned teasing.

Yu Qingjia felt a mix of complexity and guilt. She hesitated to admit this was her sister’s lousy novel.

“You don’t know?” She averted her eyes guiltily. Liu, puzzled, asked, “What?”

Clearing her throat, Yu Qingjia, suppressing shame, said, “This is my sister’s novel.”

“What?” Liu’s expression became vivid. “This is a novel world?”

Despite the embarrassment, Yu Qingjia nodded gravely, summarizing the plot.

Hearing the story, Liu’s expression turned subtle. Patting her shoulder, she said, “Your sister’s ruthless, writing herself into prison and you as cannon fodder. That’s not ruthless?”

Yu Qingjia rubbed her face, muttering, “Family misfortune.”

They laughed, but the mood soon grew heavy.

Watching dust float in the bright light, Yu Qingjia’s gaze was lost. Was she really spending her life here?

Turning to Liu, she asked, “Is she still in this body?”

Liu understood she meant the original Yu Qingjia, nodding. “She knows I’m here. Her consent let me wake up. We agreed: I get nights, she gets days.”

The words sounded odd. Yu Qingjia asked, “Can you feel her?”

“Of course. She’s talking to me now.” Liu smiled, pausing as if listening, her eyes warm yet helpless. “She says she knew something was off with you. As expected, there’s a problem. She wants to know where the old Xiao Yu went.”

If not for trusting her friend, Yu Qingjia might’ve thought Liu was delusional—those symptoms sounded like a mental illness.

Hearing the last part, she looked away. “I don’t know where she is. I’ve never felt her.”

Liu’s expression shifted, a hint of envy.

It was natural, who wouldn’t want an independent mind and body?

As Liu opened her mouth, she paused, listening. Her face changed, voice resigned. “She says she’s taking control back and wants you to leave. She doesn’t want to see you now.”

Yu Qingjia: …

Fine. She’d displaced her friend’s friend, what could she do but accept it?

Leaving Liu’s apartment, Yu Qingjia got in her car, buckled up, and stared at the sky, dazed. After a moment, she snapped out of it, started the car, and drove off.

At 9:30 PM, Ming Yin, having just put Zhizhi to bed, heard her phone. It was a friend she hadn’t spoken to in a while.

“Yu Qingjia’s drunk at your place?”

Hearing Xiao Yu’s name, Zhizhi looked at Ming Yin eagerly, but Ming Yin’s expression darkened, worrying Zhizhi.

Ming Yin glanced at her, responding softly, “I’ll head over now.”

Hanging up, Zhizhi asked anxiously, “What’s wrong with Xiao Yu?”

Ming Yin didn’t answer, patting her head. “Mommy’s going to pick up Xiao Yu. I’ll be back soon. You’ll stay home, scared?”

Zhizhi raised her hand. “I’m not scared! Go get Xiao Yu!”

Kissing Zhizhi, Ming Yin left the children’s room.

What happened to make her get drunk at a bar?