I Am the White Moonlight that the Former Movie Queen Secretly Loves - Chapter 31

The small Western-style house came pre-renovated by the developer, sparing Qi Sijia the hassle of major decorating. However, she still had to personally handle the furniture and interior styling.

Originally, some of the furniture was scheduled to arrive in the afternoon. After completing her resignation procedures, Qi Sijia led the decorators to arrange the new home.

The two-story villa didn’t look particularly large, but Qi Sijia had filled it with an assortment of artistic little trinkets that suited her taste.

A professional on-site decorator directed the placement angles while Qi Sijia simply supervised, strolling around the space. After asking the installers, she learned that finishing the setup would still take a few more hours.

With time to spare and having quit her cleaning job, she suddenly felt at loose ends. Bored, she carried a small round stool to the irregularly shaped table in the garden and unpacked her newly purchased laptop.

Turning on Bluetooth and connecting to the internet, she promptly removed the hiatus notice from her ongoing serialized novel.

Without her usual favorite mug or freshly ground coffee at hand, Qi Sijia decided to order a black coffee for herself.

While waiting for the delivery, she opened Weibo’s trending topics.

At first glance, Meng Jiang dominated the hot searches.

-“Meng Jiang’s Professional Evaluation”

-“The Strictest Mentor in History”

-“Meng Jiang Loses Her Temper on Set”

-“Rising Star: New Actor”

Out of twelve trending spots, four were about Meng Jiang. Even though Qi Sijia had blocked Meng Jiang-related posts, the sheer number of hashtags made it clear that Meng Jiang wasn’t in a good mood today.

A behind-the-scenes photo surfaced, showing Meng Jiang in a scene with a popular young actress. Meng Jiang stood slightly turned away, her phoenix eyes lowered. Though she didn’t openly express disdain, her displeasure was palpable.

Upon closer inspection, the contours of her eyes looked oddly familiar.

For some reason, Qi Sijia was reminded of the condescending gaze the penthouse owner had given her earlier.

Staring at those similarly disdainful eyes, an inexplicable irritation rose in her chest. She tossed her phone aside.

Opening her writing software, Qi Sijia found herself in an unusual situation—for the first time after a failed romance, she didn’t feel like abandoning her updates.

In Sinking, Mo Hui had died.

Wumei learned the news in the spring two years later. Someone who usually cared so much about appearances, she sat by the lake where Mo Hui had died for an entire night.

When she finally left, her legs felt like lead, each step a struggle.

Just before dawn, she gave up walking, covering her face with her hands.

“I often wonder if this is your way of punishing me…”

Young love didn’t understand how to cherish. Always testing love with breakups, only to lose it in the end.

…

Qi Sijia effortlessly wrote her protagonist to death. Only afterward did she realize—

The image of Meng Jiang’s disdainful phoenix eyes resurfaced in her mind. Glancing over the tragic ending she had just penned, every word seemed laced with venting frustration.

Another wave of irritation washed over her.

…

Even with limited romantic experience, she could tell this unrequited love felt different from past breakups.

It seemed her mood had genuinely been affected. Qi Sijia pondered this.

However, the gloom didn’t last long. Qin Xiaofang soon brought good news—

Death Roundtable might sell its film and television adaptation rights.

The catalyst was Qin Xiaofang, who served as Ji Liu’s editor. Originally, she had a meeting in City L today to discuss the follow-up plans for the publication and additional issues of Death Roundtable. Unexpectedly, there was a pleasant surprise—an investor had taken an interest in the film and television rights of Qi Sijia’s other infinite flow novel.

Given that niche genres, especially those involving infinite horror, already face challenges in publication, let alone adaptation for film and TV, this was a rare opportunity.

On the other end of the phone, Qin Xiaofang blurted everything out in one breath, barely pausing to inhale: “Why don’t you sound happy?”

Qi Sijia twitched her lips. “Then I’ll smile for you.”

Qin Xiaofang scoffed, “Bullshit!Recently, the Huangjiang Lily (yuri) channel had seen many novels in talks for film adaptations. With the soaring popularity of Sinking, news of its adaptation had caught the attention of investors eyeing the yuri market.

As a result, capital had poured into expanding investment plans for yuri dramas, seemingly aiming to create a blockbuster yuri IP for the year. This move was noted by other industry heavyweights, and with their collective push, the adaptation process for yuri works surged to a climax. As the author of Sinking, Qi Sijia found all her works now under negotiation for collaborations.

That Death Roundtable had attracted film interest was unexpected, yet not entirely surprising.

As Ji Liu’s editor, Qin Xiaofang naturally supported the adaptation.

The only issue was that, after initial discussions, the production team had raised concerns about the niche and cerebral nature of the story, fearing it might struggle with censorship. Their stance was that the adaptation needed to proceed quickly and required the original author’s direct involvement in the production.

After the meeting, Qin Xiaofang immediately relayed the details of the negotiations to Qi Sijia.

“Jiajia, would you be able to join the production team…?”

Having worked with Qi Sijia for years, Qin Xiaofang knew her talent didn’t lie solely in writing novels—her real strength was in screenwriting. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have broken through the ceiling of niche genres with such force.

The only obstacle was her crippling social anxiety, which had long hindered her career.

A prolonged silence followed. Just as Qin Xiaofang assumed Qi Sijia’s response would be the same as always—

Qi Sijia suddenly spoke. “I’ll be going to M Country soon to meet with my therapist. Try to delay the contract signing as much as possible.”

The furniture hadn’t all arrived yet—the bed and dining table were scheduled for delivery in a few days. At 8:45 PM, the installation of the wall lights in the new home was completed.

Only after the workers left did Qi Sijia head upstairs, determined to check one last time if the penthouse owner had returned. If not, she planned to leave the necklace with Gui Xiaolian to return.

It was too late; she needed to get some sleep.

Qi Sijia rapped her knuckles against the door.

Suddenly, a hand tapped her shoulder from behind. She turned.

The penthouse owner had just returned, wearing sunglasses and a mask, still on a phone call. Noticing Qi Sijia’s gaze, she curved her eyes in a smile, seemingly in high spirits.

Covering the receiver, she ended the call.

“Waiting for me on purpose?”

Qi Sijia shook her head. “No, I just got here.”

Qi Sijia had a habit of killing conversations with blunt honesty. Meng Jiang, however, took it as a lie.

When Qi Sijia reached into her bag and pulled out a glittering gift box—at first glance, a piece of jewelry—Meng Jiang’s eyes warmed with amusement.

She even prepared a confession gift for me.

Much more thoughtful than five years ago.

Unable to contain her delight, Meng Jiang averted her gaze and asked casually, “Have you eaten?”

Qi Sijia lowered her hand, noting Meng Jiang’s evident happiness.

“I have something to tell you—”

“Come inside and talk,” Meng Jiang interrupted, her tone familiar and relaxed.

The saying goes, “One doesn’t strike a smiling face.”

Though unsure what they could possibly discuss, Qi Sijia found it difficult to muster any resistance to engaging with the person before her.

Her impression of this woman was too favorable. Even knowing that the other party had no interest in interacting with her and had even investigated her background, Qi Sijia still couldn’t summon any dislike.

Setting aside the fact that this woman didn’t like her, Qi Sijia wasn’t surprised by the investigation. Someone so meticulous and thorough, who could charm others with a dazzling smile and effortless grace, often made people forget just how decisive and bold she truly was beneath the surface.

That blend of sharpness and diplomacy was something Qi Sijia had never even encountered in textbooks.

So it was no surprise that this woman would investigate a strange “auntie” like her, who had actively inserted herself into the situation.

After processing it all afternoon, Qi Sijia still believed the woman before her had good character—otherwise, she wouldn’t have stepped in to help multiple times.

But Qi Sijia couldn’t risk liking her again.

Considering this would be their last interaction, Qi Sijia pressed her lips together, willing to give them both a dignified parting.

Instead of stepping inside immediately, she stood at the doorway, meeting Meng Jiang’s gaze directly. “Don’t you owe me an apology?”

…

Five years apart, yet her personality remained the same—always able to corner her with logic and make her yield.

Meng Jiang felt an almost surreal sense of familiarity.

After all, just yesterday, she had appeared before Qi Sijia as her first love, and the latter hadn’t even been willing to offer a single word of apology.

“My vigilance was excessive—I’m sorry,” Meng Jiang said with genuine sincerity, explaining, “That day, when I saw you talking with that paparazzo, I knew deep down you weren’t actually friends with her. But my nature just…”

This was Meng Jiang’s usual way of thinking. Without this level of caution over the years, she would have long been pierced by countless hidden arrows.

Qi Sijia found the tone of Meng Jiang’s smiling apology oddly familiar and shot her a suspicious glance.

Unsurprisingly, the other woman was wearing a mask, revealing nothing.

Had Qi Sijia let her gaze linger on Meng Jiang’s eyes for a few more seconds, she might have recognized the same look from last night—when Meng Jiang had insisted on staying at her place.

But unfortunately, Qi Sijia was more restrained than ever. In her moral framework, once she confirmed someone wasn’t her girlfriend, she became increasingly polite. She didn’t spare Meng Jiang another glance.

Accepting the apology, and considering that the penthouse owner hadn’t actually done anything to harm her, Qi Sijia smoothly retreated to the most comfortable position—that of a stranger.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “Since it was a misunderstanding, Miss Meng and I can consider it settled.”

Qi Sijia’s “settled” referred to Meng Jiang helping her out of a tight spot that morning.

Meng Jiang, however, seemed to misinterpret it, her eyes flickering briefly.

“You never have to be this formal with me.” Tossing her phone aside, Meng Jiang pulled out a brand-new pair of slippers and set them before Qi Sijia.

Frowning slightly, as if dissatisfied with the size, she muttered to herself, “Next time, I’ll buy you a pair that fits properly.”

Qi Sijia found her tone strangely intimate, as if the impatience and disdain from that morning had never existed.

The penthouse spanned over two hundred square meters, fully equipped with all modern appliances. The space was immaculate—more like an art gallery than a home, with not a speck of dust in sight.

Qi Sijia had long known this woman had a cleanliness obsession.

“Does cleaning all this tire you out?” she asked, grasping for conversation.

“Mostly hourly workers come by.”

Meng Jiang settled Qi Sijia on the sofa, then went to the long wine cabinet on the other side of the living room to fetch a tea set, placing it on the table.

Seeing her prepare to brew tea, Qi Sijia waved her hand and said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be leaving soon.”

Meng Jiang replied, “No harm in having a cup of tea.”

An exquisite set of teacups was arranged on the table. As the water boiled, Meng Jiang took a celadon-glazed cup, tossed in some Longjing tea, and brewed a small cup for Qi Sijia, handing it to her.

Throughout the process, her gaze remained patient—a stark contrast to the impatient demeanor she had displayed at the door earlier that afternoon.

Qi Sijia eyed her suspiciously. Meng Jiang wore a mask, making it impossible to discern her thoughts.

Dressed in loungewear, she moved with natural grace, carrying the tea across the table to the other side of the sofa. She bent her legs slightly and, in the next moment, sat down right beside Qi Sijia, their shoulders nearly touching.

A startling warmth pressed against Qi Sijia’s arm, and she felt sweat prickle beneath her gas mask. Sitting up stiffly, she said, “Could you move over a bit?”

Her tone, though still refusing, was far gentler than when she had faced her first love, Meng Jiang, the day before.

Feeling complicated, Meng Jiang touched the mask covering her chin and obediently shifted an inch to the side.

Still uncomfortable, Qi Sijia asked, “Do you always wear a mask at home?”

Meng Jiang raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Qi Sijia didn’t elaborate, only offering a faint smile.

There was little point in two masked people exchanging confessions. Though unsure whether Qi Sijia would stop loving the “penthouse owner” altogether upon learning the truth, Meng Jiang wore her answer plainly and steered the conversation: “My surname is Meng.”

She stared directly at Qi Sijia, who thought for a moment before extending her hand and saying, “Miss Meng, hello.”

Meng Jiang’s expression froze momentarily before she finally offered her right hand. Their palms met briefly, lingering with a faint dampness before parting.

Distractedly, Meng Jiang said, “Let’s get to know each other.”

Qi Sijia didn’t see the need. “You can call me Miss Qi,” she replied.

Meng Jiang glanced at her.

“My name is—”

Before she could finish, Qi Sijia cut in again: “Miss Meng.”

A twitch flickered across Meng Jiang’s brow. Was Qi Sijia not even planning to exchange names?

Her mind lagged slightly before she belatedly realized that Qi Sijia’s manner of speaking wasn’t quite right—it didn’t seem like she intended to continue the confession. The night’s earlier joy solidified into unease.

A bad premonition crept in.

She had already experienced Qi Sijia’s coldness the night before when boundaries were drawn after being dismissed as “not a woman.”

Forced to calm down, Meng Jiang recalled the foolishness of her actions that afternoon.

Finally snapping out of the fantasies woven by the night, she realized it was too late to prepare—she had no idea how to salvage the situation now.

Meng Jiang fell silent.

In the cramped space, the quiet amplified their senses. The proximity made Qi Sijia suddenly catch the scent of her own shampoo on Meng Jiang.

Annoyance flared—even their shampoo was the same?

Her mind buzzed with static, thoughts scattering.

Before she knew what she was doing, Qi Sijia jerked backward, then caught herself, reining in her emotions. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a blue velvet jewelry box, handing it to Meng Jiang, eager to end things quickly.

“Here.” Qi Sijia’s tone was flat. When Meng Jiang raised an eyebrow but didn’t take it, she placed the box directly beside her right hand. “I can’t accept this.”

Meng Jiang’s fingers idly played with the teacup, moving it back and forth aimlessly.

“Why do you think I gave this to you?”

The question carried its own answer, as if to say she didn’t believe such a gift could be returned once given. After all, in her way of handling social niceties, this kind of reciprocal exchange—a gesture of reward between superior and subordinate—was the most ordinary form of etiquette.

That blue velvet gift box was stubbornly pressed onto the table by Meng Jiang and pushed back toward Qi Sijia’s hand.

Qi Sijia sighed. This person was just as hard to deal with as Meng Jiang.

After a moment of serious thought, she decided not to beat around the bush. Their eyes met, the blue velvet pouch lying between them. Qi Sijia asked calmly, “Do you want the truth?”

Meng Jiang said, “Go ahead.”

“One does not accept rewards without merit.” Qi Sijia glanced at the tea leaves floating in the boiling water but avoided looking at Meng Jiang. “We barely know each other—we don’t even know each other’s names. You giving me a gift only makes me feel…”

For the first time in her life, she steeled herself to deliver a harsh remark—to someone other than Meng Jiang.

Qi Sijia paused. “It makes me feel like you’re being unreasonable.”

Their gazes locked. A few seconds of silence passed.

Meng Jiang lowered her eyes, seemingly a little disappointed. She set down her teacup and wiped her fingers clean.

“You almost had me believing you ‘had no issue with me.’ Seems like you have quite the issue, don’t you?”

Her long lashes cast faint shadows over the bridge of her nose. She didn’t spare a single glance at the lonely gift box, her eyes fixed on Qi Sijia instead. A silent standoff lasted a few seconds.

Meng Jiang was the first to speak. “The reason I gave you a gift was to thank you for bringing me meals. If you won’t accept it, will you still bring food tomorrow?”

“I quit.”

The air froze for a brief moment.

Meng Jiang took a deep breath, her expression completely blank. She frowned. “Why?”

Qi Sijia thought, Wasn’t it you who wanted to distance yourself from me?

Why does it seem like you’re the victim here?

Choosing not to tear down the last shred of pretense, Qi Sijia replied, “I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Qi Sijia stood up to leave.

The atmosphere turned subtly tense. Meng Jiang didn’t stop her, her eyes following Qi Sijia all the way to the door.

Her voice, usually so composed, carried a suppressed edge as she suddenly called out, “What about me, then?”

“What?”

Meng Jiang lowered her gaze, her tone tinged with something almost innocent as she looked straight at Qi Sijia. “To be honest, lately, I can only stomach the home-cooked meals you make. I can’t eat takeout or anything else.”

They were standing too close. The scent of their shared shampoo and body wash mingled in the air. In such an atmosphere, even a monk might start entertaining improper thoughts.

The warmth of Meng Jiang’s breath brushed against Qi Sijia’s ear, sending an inexplicable heat through her. For a moment, Qi Sijia couldn’t figure out what the penthouse resident was trying to imply.

She had thought returning the gift would sever ties for good.

But the other woman always managed to close the distance Qi Sijia had painstakingly created, effortlessly.

It was too dangerous. She was afraid of misreading the situation.

So Qi Sijia hardened her heart and said dryly, “Then maybe you should try to manage on your own.”

A gust of wind blew in, loosening Meng Jiang’s hair tie. Her long, wavy hair tumbled over her face.

As if she didn’t even notice, Meng Jiang withdrew her hand. She lifted her eyelids, her eyes catching the light—fragmented, like shattered glass beads.

Those eyes no longer looked at Qi Sijia, instead they lowered, a faint, desolate smile gracing her strikingly beautiful features, now tinged with a palpable sense of fragility. She said, “Fine, I’ll force myself a little and have some fasting meals.”

Qi Sijia pressed her lips together, unable to help but reflect on how truly excessive she had been.

For a fleeting second, she even doubted her own character, feeling as though she resembled an irresponsible scoundrel who bullied men and oppressed women.

–

Three days later.

The new bed and furniture for Qi Sijia’s home arrived.

The moving company called just as Qi Sijia was taking Big Orange to the hospital—it had fallen ill again.

The old cat’s belly was swollen, worse than the last time it had been sick and shedding fur.

After delivering the cat to the hospital, Qi Sijia found the cat-loving young man there as well. Since a full examination was required, the wait was excruciatingly long. When the furniture company called to confirm the installation time, which wouldn’t take too long, the young man urged Qi Sijia to go handle her errands.

Because the examination room needed sterilization, Qi Sijia couldn’t wear her gas mask. Her regular mask left her feeling out of place in the bustling hospital corridor.

Staying there to wait was another form of torment.

After much persuasion from the young man, Qi Sijia finally arranged with the moving company to come for installation at 5 p.m.

But just as the furniture was nearly installed, Qi Sijia found herself trending on social media.

At that moment, she was on the phone with the cat-loving young man.

The results for Big Orange were in.

The vet diagnosed it as intestinal obstruction, requiring surgery. However, given the cat’s advanced age, the risks were high, the costs steep, and its post-surgery lifespan uncertain.

Of course, due to the severity of the obstruction, the surgery needed to be done as soon as possible.

Without hesitation, Qi Sijia told the vet over the video call, “Proceed with the surgery.”

She hung up, eager to return, but was intercepted by another call—this time from Ye Qianqian.

Simultaneously, a new hashtag soared to the top of the trending list: “Ye Qianqian, Rumored Girlfriend of Fu Chuchu, Suspected of Cheating with Gas Mask-Wearing Woman.”

The images were blurry, clearly taken covertly, showing Ye Qianqian’s profile and Qi Sijia, fully masked, stepping out of Ye Qianqian’s car.

Amid the negative press and the fallout for her friend, Ye Qianqian was swamped, insisting someone was deliberately targeting her.

But the scandal had dragged Qi Sijia into the spotlight. Compared to Ye Qianqian’s affluent background, Qi Sijia—dressed eccentrically in a gas mask and working as a cleaning lady—was far easier to expose.

Though her face wasn’t visible, the paparazzi, having tailed Ye Qianqian, had already uncovered Qi Sijia’s address in the old city district.

“Don’t go back home for now.”

“Jinbiao Mingting isn’t safe. If you’re there, stay indoors and don’t come out.”

Qi Sijia’s expression darkened—she had to leave.

Having stayed out of social circles for years, very few people knew her true identity.

Human nature is fickle; connections require mutual engagement. For Qi Sijia to call in favors, she’d need authority within the Qi family. Otherwise, relying on childhood ties alone, she could hardly mobilize the fair-weather friends in her circle to resolve this. Even Ye Qianqian couldn’t quash the trending topic, indicating a powerful force behind it.

Those people were even less reliable than Ye Qianqian.

Paparazzi were camped outside Jinbiao Mingting, lying in wait for Qi Sijia. Leaving now would be like walking into the lion’s den.

Before she could make more calls, the doorbell suddenly rang.

Qi Sijia fastened her gas mask and stepped out.

“You’re here.”

Qi Sijia looked up to see the owner of the penthouse leaning against the doorway, holding a bag of toiletries.

Qi Sijia’s expression was grim. “I can’t go home right now,” she said. “Did you need something?”

Meng Jiang had prepared a large bag of daily necessities for her. She lifted the bag slightly.

“I saw the news,” Meng Jiang said.

The person in the viral video wearing a gas mask was unmistakably Qi Sijia.

Meng Jiang asked, “Are you okay?”

Qi Sijia replied, “I’m managing.”

As they exchanged words under the bright stairwell lights, Meng Jiang suddenly widened her eyes. Even with the gas mask on, Qi Sijia looked visibly exhausted under the glare.

With weary eyes half-closed, the overlapping eyelids revealed utter exhaustion.

“You haven’t slept?”

Qi Sijia, distracted, opened the door, in no mood to deal with this person.

“One day.”

Big Orange had been sick for a day.

“Just for this, was it worth staying up all night?”

Qi Sijia didn’t respond.

After a few exchanges, it was clear Qi Sijia was in a terrible state. Meng Jiang narrowed her eyes, softening her tone as she asked gently, “Trouble?”

Qi Sijia lifted her gaze to glance at her.

Taking the daily necessities Meng Jiang had prepared for her, she asked if there was a charger.

Meng Jiang said yes, and the bag was promptly taken from her fingers by Qi Sijia.

The large bag of supplies was meticulously packed by Meng Jiang.

Qi Sijia dumped the contents out, rummaged through the scattered items for the charger, then swiftly moved to the corner. Plugging it in, she charged her phone, ignoring Meng Jiang the entire time.

Then came call after call.

Calmly, Qi Sijia reached out to everyone she knew.

Qin Xiaofang was on a business trip in L City. She had a friend trace the media outlet behind the leaked scandal—Pigeon Paparazzi Studio.

It took Qi Sijia a while to recall that this was the same “promotional ad” she had blocked before.

Qin Xiaofang cursed over the phone, “They’re really shameless. If they can’t have you, they’ll just humiliate you. Don’t let me catch them when I’m back from this trip.”

Qi Sijia remained composed, coolly passing the useful information to Ye Qianqian to handle, then subtly probing Wei Yunfang with a call.

Wei Yunfang was on a business trip in Paris and assured her the matter could be resolved by morning.

But Qi Sijia needed a way out now. Tonight was too late—no one could clear out the people camped outside. Even if the paparazzi left, there was no stopping the extreme fans of Fu Chuchu from lurking with malicious intent.

Facing the public at the peak of the scandal was far from wise.

…

While Qi Sijia crouched in the corner making calls, Meng Jiang found a sofa to sit on alone. After listening in, she had a rough idea of what was happening.

Watching Qi Sijia seek help from everyone except her, half her face shadowed, Meng Jiang felt an inexplicable helplessness.

A few minutes later, Ye Qianqian initiated a video call.

She asked if Qi Sijia had found anyone to help.

Qi Sijia shook her head.

“I have an idea.”

Qi Sijia said, “Go on.”

“You’re at Golden Court right now, right?” Ye Qianqian acknowledged the swarm of reporters outside but pointed out that Golden Court had excellent security—reporters couldn’t get in, and visitors weren’t being allowed entry.

Why not drive out herself?

Qi Sijia had already considered that. The light in her eyes dimmed as she told Ye Qianqian her little yellow duck car was parked outside the complex.

With so many people out there, even with her heart medication, Qi Sijia knew her current mental state wouldn’t let her step through the gates.

“Have you thought about asking the penthouse owner for help?”

Ye Qianqian suggested, her naturally loud voice carrying through the speaker to Meng Jiang on the other side.

Qi Sijia turned around.

Their eyes met, and Meng Jiang set down the apple in her hand.

Walking over to stand behind Qi Sijia, she asked, “What kind of help?”

At a measured distance, one stood while the other crouched.

As if waiting—if Qi Sijia nodded, she’d take another step closer. If not, she’d let it be.

No arrogance, no forced flattery, just the gentlest of tones.

Qi Sijia opened her mouth, only to find her voice slightly hoarse. In her life, she had never made a decision to walk away only to turn back and regret it the next second.

Subconsciously, she resisted any lingering connections.

Yet tonight, after exhausting all possible solutions without success, when Meng Jiang asked if she needed help, Qi Sijia surprisingly didn’t refuse.

She fell silent for a moment.

If Chen Cheng were here, he would probably call Meng Jiang an old fox.

From start to finish, she wasn’t in a hurry to offer solutions, simply staring straight at Qi Sijia, waiting for her to speak.

That way, it would be Qi Sijia who took the initiative.

A few seconds later, having steeled herself, Qi Sijia calmly met Meng Jiang’s gaze. “Thank you. I do need your help.”

After exhausting all her connections without finding a solution, with her cat’s life hanging in the balance, Qi Sijia realized that the stubborn rules she had derived from Wei Yunfang and Qi Jun’s failed marriage might not need to apply today—there was no bottom line.

Qi Sijia said to Meng Jiang, “My cat is sick.”

The old cat that had accompanied her through the disappointments of adulthood.

Meng Jiang froze, finally understanding why Qi Sijia looked so pale. “How long has it been sick…?”

“Two days.”

The cat was currently at the hospital.

The orange tabby was old now, its digestive system and heart already deteriorating. Qi Sijia had thought she was prepared for its eventual passing, but as the frequency of its illnesses increased, she felt an overwhelming panic—greater than the helplessness she’d felt the last time the cat refused to eat.

Perhaps, deep down, she knew that if she didn’t hurry back, this time, the cat might never wake up again, just like her grandmother five years ago.

Qi Sijia’s face was haggard as she lifted her eyes to Meng Jiang. “Could I trouble you to lend me your car…”

“You’re in no state to drive.” Meng Jiang picked up the car keys, sighing helplessly as she took Qi Sijia’s arm. “I’ll take you. You can rest in the back seat.”

Qi Sijia’s lips were chapped. “Just one day.”

“I promise you’ll see your cat the moment it wakes up after surgery, alright?”

Qi Sijia was momentarily stunned. All night, she had been in a frantic rush, desperate to see her cat one last time—just like five years ago in that taxi, when she had begged the driver, Please, go faster.

Later, she thought that if she had been the driver, maybe she could have made it in time.

Now, faced with the same situation, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. A beam of light reflected in Meng Jiang’s beautiful eyes, though it didn’t inspire much confidence.

Yet, meeting those strangely familiar, smiling phoenix eyes and hearing her earnest reassurance—spoken in such a soothing, indulgent tone—Qi Sijia’s shoulders relaxed unconsciously.

Without another word, she followed this woman she barely knew to the back seat of the car.