I Am the White Moonlight that the Former Movie Queen Secretly Loves - Chapter 33

Not long after Meng Jiang left, Qi Sijia received a call from Wei Yunfang.

Last night, Qi Sijia had asked Wei Yunfang to suppress the trending searches. It was rare for Qi Sijia to take the initiative and ask for help with something, so Wei Yunfang didn’t delay in the slightest.

But someone had acted faster than her. The news that had been everywhere last night had completely vanished by morning.

Wei Yunfang searched everywhere for the leaked photo of Qi Sijia getting out of Ye Qianqian’s car, only to find that all information related to Qi Sijia had been wiped clean in an instant.

In its place was a trending topic: “Meng Jiang Joins the Cast.”

“Did your friend help take it down?” Wei Yunfang asked.

Today, Qi Sijia had heard the word “friend” from too many people. She still couldn’t quite define what Meng Jiang was to her—there were too many unresolved issues between them, and she needed time to think.

Since she couldn’t pin it down, she didn’t correct the assumption that they were friends.

After all, “friend” was a safe label, one that wouldn’t seem out of place. It also gave Qi Sijia a temporary reprieve, allowing her to postpone thinking about what role Meng Jiang had played in her life over the past five years.

Wei Yunfang didn’t have anything urgent that morning and had deliberately set aside time to talk. Her questions came thick and fast. “How did you end up attracting paparazzi attention?”

Not in the mood for lengthy explanations, Qi Sijia simply replied, “A debt of love.”

“What kind of—” The words nearly slipped out, but Wei Yunfang caught herself just as her disapproving tone began to surface. She coughed lightly and backtracked. “Never mind what kind of debt it is. You have your own thoughts, and I won’t pry. As long as you’re alright.”

Not long after Qi Sijia hung up, Ye Qianqian rushed to the hospital in a fluster.

She had come to visit the cat but hadn’t brought a fruit basket.

Still, she was more cautious than usual, wearing a mask over her face.

Now, the entire staff of the animal hospital couldn’t help but stare at them. Qi Sijia wearing a gas mask was already strange enough, but it turned out everyone she knew also wore masks.

It was impossible not to draw attention.

Qi Sijia glanced at Ye Qianqian and said disdainfully, “What a spectacle.”

“Tell me about it. First time in my life playing coy like this,” Ye Qianqian joked self-deprecatingly. After all her years of wild living, this was the first time she’d been exposed by clueless media—not only becoming a celebrity herself but also dragging Qi Sijia into the mess. If she didn’t tread carefully now, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

After briefly asking about Big Orange’s condition, Ye Qianqian said to Qi Sijia, “I’ll take care of things here. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Qi Sijia didn’t look the least bit tired. “I’m not sleepy. I just woke up.”

Ye Qianqian’s eyebrows twitched. She glanced around but didn’t see anyone who might fit the description of the penthouse owner Qi Sijia had mentioned.

Suppressing the pang in her heart, she asked tentatively, “Was it her…?”

“Did she take care of Big Orange last night?”

Qi Sijia had no reason to hide it. “Yeah.”

Just then, an alarm went off—one Meng Jiang had set in advance. Qi Sijia froze for a moment.

She walked to the bedside and turned off the plastic-wrapped wall clock, then pressed the call button.

A moment later, the vet wheeled in a treatment cart to change Big Orange’s dressing.

Since it wasn’t a good place to talk, Qi Sijia led Ye Qianqian to a small park within the hospital grounds before continuing their conversation.

“Why didn’t I see her?”

“She just left.”

Ye Qianqian clicked her tongue in amazement. Qi Sijia had severe social anxiety and was deeply guarded—no one had managed to get close to her in five years.

She could get the top-floor owner to take care of Big Orange, the life-or-death companion she relied on, for a night. This level of closeness was something even Ye Qianqian probably couldn’t match.

“What’s with that look?” Qi Sijia said. “Spit it out.”

“She has feelings for you…”

Before Ye Qianqian could even finish asking, Qi Sijia already knew what she was thinking.

Qi Sijia closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Understood. That meant there was something going on.

Ye Qianqia felt a little hurt, but this time, she didn’t pour cold water on Qi Sijia’s words or badmouth the top-floor owner like she had with the previous girlfriend, Shu Ran.

After all, this one was far better than any of the women Qi Sijia had dated before.

Not only had she helped resolve the trending scandal, but she’d also been considerate in easing Qi Sijia’s troubles. Most importantly, with her around, Qi Sijia could stay comfortably in crowds without wearing a mask, communicating effortlessly—a relationship that just felt right.

Putting herself in that position, Ye Qianqian realized she couldn’t do half as much for Qi Sijia as the top-floor owner had.

The conversation didn’t linger on that person to avoid souring the mood. Instead, Ye Qianqian briefly updated Qi Sijia on the aftermath of last night’s escalating mess.

The trouble had been caused by Ye Qianqian, but by morning, all the trending topics and gossip accounts seemed to have collectively amnesia, not uttering a word about yesterday’s overwhelming news. It didn’t take a genius to guess it had been suppressed.

Ye Qianqian had spent the morning using her connections to pry the identity of the person behind it from the gossip accounts, but she’d come up empty-handed.

Whoever it was had power on par with Meng Jiang.

Ye Qianqian voiced her suspicion: “Your top-floor owner isn’t an ordinary person.”

Qi Sijia nodded without denying it.

“Do you have her WeChat? I’d like to add her and thank her properly.”

Qi Sijia didn’t even think before answering, “No.”

“Then I’ll find someone to look her up myself,” Ye Qianqian said, already reaching for her phone.

Qi Sijia lifted an arm to stop her, expressionless. “I have her number.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Ye Qianqian huffed. “It’s not like I’d be rude. Since I caused the trouble, it’s only right I thank her personally. If there’s a favor to return, that’s only natural.”

Unable to dissuade Ye Qianqian’s stubbornness, Qi Sijia recited a string of numbers offhandedly.

Ye Qianqian was stunned all over again. “You’ve memorized her phone number? That’s not normal, Jiajia. You two…”

The unspoken second half—your relationship is pretty obvious—hung in the air.

Qi Sijia could see it but had no interest in explaining. She simply said, “There’s nothing between us for now.”

She said for now.

Which meant there would be something later.

Ye Qianqian felt a pang of sadness, but this time, she didn’t resist the idea.

Maybe it was because Qi Sijia had lived like a ghost these past years, and if someone could pull her back into the world, Ye Qianqian could accept it rationally.

As for anything else—well, she’d bless them, even if it stung with envy.

The next day, Meng Jiang received a call from Ye Qianqian backstage at a variety show. The second Miss Ye didn’t recognize Meng Jiang’s voice and asked to meet for a meal to thank her in person. Meng Jiang politely declined.

But she phrased it so gracefully that it was impossible to dislike her. Ye Qianqian couldn’t even muster a single sharp remark.

Originally, she’d planned to ask, What makes you think you can waltz in and stand by Jiajia’s side?

But the words never left her mouth, leaving her feeling like a petty drama queen choking on a lemon.

Ye Qianqian was shameless by nature, but not shameless enough to lash out at someone who handled conversations so smoothly without rising to the bait.

Meng Jiang skillfully steered the conversation, even coaxing a few extra details about Qi Sijia’s dull life over the years out of her.

A half-hour phone call later, Meng Jiang endured the tediousness and listened patiently until the end.

“Compared to five years ago, she’s changed quite a bit—more withdrawn.”

Withdrawn? That was an understatement. Severe social anxiety, to the point of a psychological disorder.

Ye Qianqian hinted cautiously, “You two knew each other before?”

Meng Jiang took the coffee handed to her by her new assistant, took a sip, and admitted frankly, “She didn’t tell you?”

“We were first loves.”

Ye Qianqian: …………

“And I still haven’t let go.” Meng Jiang enunciated each word deliberately, as if she had a lot to say, hammering the message into Ye Qianqian’s head to emphasize just how unique her relationship with Qi Sijia was. “I’m working on winning her back.”

Ye Qianqian froze for a moment before realizing—this was a declaration of ownership.

“F*ck,” she muttered. “So you’re the one who—”

The response was a long dial tone.

–

Big Orange was reaching the end of its lifespan. Even if the surgery had been successful, it was just a matter of living day by day.

Its body grew thinner by the day.

The vet advised preparing for the inevitable. Qi Sijia understood all too well. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be a sudden passing but a well-prepared farewell, free of regrets, accompanying it to the very end.

Because during her darkest moments, it was this cat that had stayed by her side, getting her through those nights where closing her eyes only brought suffocating darkness.

Qi Sijia set aside all her scheduled commitments. During the day, she stayed at the hospital, petting its fur whenever the vet allowed.

On Wednesday, Ye Qianqian called to confirm the treatment schedule with Mike and asked when Qi Sijia planned to go to the U.S. Qi Sijia didn’t give a definite answer, only saying she needed more time.

In the meantime, after finalizing the contract, Qin Xiaofang rushed to the hospital once.

She didn’t bring up the film adaptation of the two books while there, but as the contract progressed, the production team had requested the original author’s involvement on set. Qin Xiaofang had mentioned it before. Seeing her hesitation, Qi Sijia gave a firm answer: “I can join. Just give me a little more time.”

Her tone was calm, but there was a quiet confidence in her expression, a clarity that hadn’t been there in years.

Finally…

For five years, Qin Xiaofang hadn’t seen Qi Sijia speak with such self-assurance about scripts and her passions—the things she excelled at.

The Jia who had once contributed to multiple globally sensational scripts at “RENAISSANCE STUDIO” in Chicago was coming back.

Qi Sijia, Qin Xiaofang thought, it’s time for you to soar.

–

After that day, Meng Jiang never showed up again.

She deliberately left this period blank, giving Qi Sijia space to be with her cat.

But every night, her driver would park the RV in the hospital’s surface lot, promptly calling Qi Sijia down at 10 p.m. to sleep.

If Qi Sijia was willing, she could sleep in the RV—Meng Jiang had even prepared meals. If she refused, the driver would take her home.

The next morning, they’d arrange a time for pickup.

Qi Sijia tried to decline once, but the driver shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Qi. You’ll have to discuss that with Miss Meng.”

Qi Sijia fell silent, staring into the endless stretch of night.

Big Orange could pass away at any moment. Even without Meng Jiang’s RV, Qi Sijia had no intention of going home during its final days. The hospital was too far—she might not make it in time to say goodbye.

The memory of that night five years ago was too vivid. Qi Sijia was haunted by it.

Meng Jiang’s RV was filled with a drowsy warmth, and the high-quality speakers played the opera Huadan from the beginning.

Qi Sijia silently allowed this closeness.

–

A week after Ge Yarui’s paparazzi studio was shut down, she still couldn’t figure out who was behind it.

After exhausting all her connections, she managed to glean a sliver of information at a high-end banquet—the root of the matter was that someone wanted to avenge Qi Sijia.

A week later, Ge Yarui stood before Qi Sijia, apologizing profusely, her words dripping with remorse.

She was sincere in her apology, even removing the blue studs from her ears. Gone were the ripped jeans, replaced by a form-fitting dress paired with her short hair, making her look formal.

A faint redness lingered at the corners of her eyes as she deliberately showed vulnerability.

But the expected softening of Qi Sijia’s heart never came.

“This isn’t something I can decide.” Qi Sijia knew all too well how ruthless Meng Jiang could be at her core. Once that woman took action, there was no room for mercy.

And since this ruthless retaliation was carried out for Qi Sijia’s sake, she couldn’t say anything against it.

It would seem ungrateful. Besides, even if Meng Jiang hadn’t intervened, Qi Sijia would have wanted to do the same.

Ge Yarui stomped heavily on the steps.

“I’m begging you.”

Qi Sijia glanced at her and said flatly, “Don’t.”

Her tone was detached, as if discussing something entirely unrelated to herself.

“I didn’t actually harm you. Why can’t you give me a chance to make amends?” Desperation crept into Ge Yarui’s voice, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she raised her voice in plea.

Perhaps in her past interactions with Qi Sijia, she had known her as an exceedingly patient person—someone who, though socially awkward, was gentle and accommodating, free of sharp edges.

That memory had led Ge Yarui to hold onto hope. But now, facing Qi Sijia in person, that illusion of kindness was completely shattered.

Qi Sijia’s eyes held little emotion. She wasn’t even angry.

This indifference was unbearable for Ge Yarui. She turned and walked away, her canvas shoes slapping loudly against the ground, yet not a single word of acknowledgment followed her.

After a few steps, her hope extinguished, Ge Yarui spun back around, her eyes burning with fury.

The sharp clack of her shoes echoed as she returned to stand before Qi Sijia.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an utterly heartless person? You never give anyone a chance to make mistakes.” Ge Yarui took a deep breath, determined to lay bare what a terrible person Qi Sijia was.

“Do you know why you’ve been dumped so many times? No matter how many girlfriends you have, being with you only leaves them feeling defeated. They were in the same position as me—they made mistakes, and you never once forgave them.”

“In fact, I even suspect you deliberately seek out people like us—flawed, prone to mistakes—just so you can justify breaking up with them.”

Ge Yarui sneered. “That way, you can walk away without guilt.”

When a paparazzo twists the truth, black can become white.

Most would dismiss it as madness and ignore it.

But Qi Sijia reacted. She lifted her gaze to meet Ge Yarui’s eyes, as if genuinely considering whether she was indeed heartless.

After a moment of thought, she said earnestly, “This is the first time I’ve heard this. I’ve never thought about it before.”

Her tone was sincere. “I’ll reflect on it.”

“But next time, don’t talk about yourself like that. The law doesn’t give free passes to scumbags. Do you think slapping a ‘scumbag’ label on yourself and making mistakes will make me forgive you? What do you take me for? And what do you take yourself for?”

The words twisted and turned, leaving Ge Yaru’s eyes red.

Perhaps it was because of that past period—when Qi Sijia had unconditionally indulged her—that had spoiled her rotten. It took Ge Yaru a while to realize that Qi Sijia had known everything all along and could pierce right through her with such an unfamiliar, thorny decisiveness. It was like facing a completely different person.

Not the Qi Sijia Ge Yaru knew, even if she was wearing that bizarre gas mask. Ge Yaru could almost see the bone-deep, unyielding coldness and disgust in her expression.

Watching Ge Yaru leave in a daze, Qi Sijia turned on her heel. The moment she looked back, she spotted Meng Jiang in the pale gray corridor, standing at the hospital’s corner.

Lost in thought, Meng Jiang had her head slightly lowered, a China-red mask still covering her mouth. Unlit, a cigarette dangled between her fingers. When Qi Sijia approached, Meng Jiang reflexively moved to stub it out.

Qi Sijia lifted her gaze and glanced at her. “Keep smoking.”

Her fingers hovered over the trash bin’s edge, not yet touching it. The cigarette ash had burned halfway, unnoticed, and now dusted the hem of her skirt. Meng Jiang, as if her intermittent germaphobia had vanished, froze, her eyes shifting to Qi Sijia’s face.

Qi Sijia remained expressionless, letting her look.

Just like that day when she had seen the deliberately left phone number, her face gave nothing away. No one could tell what she was thinking.

But what did “keep smoking” mean?

How was she supposed to smoke?

Take off her mask and smoke right in front of her?

Their eyes met. Afraid of misreading the situation, Meng Jiang arched a brow. Qi Sijia responded with a faint smile.

What was there to smile about? The answer was practically laid bare between them.

Meng Jiang’s half-lowered eyes widened in an instant. The scene with Ge Yaru moments ago had mirrored her own situation, and the unease in her heart vanished with that silent signal.

Tossing the slim cigarette aside, Meng Jiang quickened her steps in her high heels, catching up to Qi Sijia until they walked side by side.

“How’s Da Ju doing? Feeling better?” she asked.

Qi Sijia replied casually, “You didn’t go see for yourself?”

“Just got here,” Meng Jiang answered, her tone even more natural than Qi Sijia’s. With an actress’s skill, she wasn’t worried about seeming inferior. They both tacitly avoided mentioning what kind of positive signal had just been exchanged in that unspoken test.

But after this, Meng Jiang didn’t bother hiding her expression. She tilted her slender waist slightly, extending a delicate octagonal lacquered food box toward Qi Sijia.

“What’s this for?” Qi Sijia asked, feigning ignorance.

“Food.”

“You made it?”

It had always been Qi Sijia bringing meals to Meng Jiang. The idea of Meng Jiang delivering food struck Qi Sijia as absurd—someone so picky, she doubted the food would even be properly cooked.

Meng Jiang seemed to read her skepticism. “Not me.”

Qi Sijia followed up, “Takeout, then?”

Meng Jiang’s phoenix eyes curved into a smile, brightening her whole face. “The new chef’s skills are decent. If you think it’s edible, I’ll come again tomorrow.”

Chen Cheng’s vacation had ended early, so Meng Jiang had hired a new assistant and chef. The meals were specially prepared to match Qi Sijia’s tastes.

Meng Jiang casually mentioned the food’s origin.

Qi Sijia waited patiently for her to finish before saying, “Don’t bother. Da Ju’s being discharged tomorrow.”

Meng Jiang’s lips moved slightly as she glanced at Qi Sijia.

Big Orange’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. He had survived that cool night after surgery, but he couldn’t outrun time.

He didn’t have much life left—Meng Jiang had just consulted the veterinarian she brought along, and the verdict was cruel. Birth, aging, sickness, and death were the natural course of life, let alone for a cat.

To prolong his life, modern medical treatment would require him to stay in the pet hospital, hooked up to tubes and medications, perhaps buying him a few more days. But those invasive treatments would leave him barely recognizable as a cat.

Meng Jiang personally believed that death might be kinder for Big Orange, yet she also understood what this old cat meant to Qi Sijia.

Even now, the memory of Qi Sijia’s devastated expression from that night a week ago remained vivid.

They walked in silence all the way to the isolation room door before Meng Jiang finally spoke. She didn’t ask why they were leaving the hospital—instead, softening her tone, she offered comfort: “It must be really hard.”

Qi Sijia lifted her eyes to meet hers. “You sound like you’re coaxing a child.”

Meng Jiang froze for a moment, then shrugged, as if letting Qi Sijia define it however she liked.

But in truth, if she didn’t coax her, how could she win her back?

Of course, she didn’t say that. There was no need to spell it out now, no need to make it about herself.

Meng Jiang had always been adept at saying the right thing for the right occasion. Right now, Qi Sijia had enough to deal with concerning Big Orange—she didn’t need Meng Jiang adding to it.

That was also why she hadn’t rushed over these past few days to assert her presence.

Too much would be inappropriate. All those thoughts of reconciliation and romance could wait.

The ward was a semi-isolation area. The doctor was removing Big Orange’s tubes—since the old cat was being discharged to live out his final days, some simple wound care and dressing changes were needed.

Qi Sijia brought Meng Jiang in to see him. From a distance, the old cat let out several pained meows, each one heartbreaking to hear.

When they stepped out, Meng Jiang opened her mouth. By her usual standards of social grace, she should have offered some polished words of comfort. But even as Qi Sijia walked her to the elevator, Meng Jiang couldn’t bring herself to say anything sentimental.

She stared at Qi Sijia, struggling to find the right words.

Qi Sijia looked up, meeting her still-fond gaze, and smiled again.

Same as before—she wasn’t a child.

“You should go,” Qi Sijia said.

“If it gets too hard, call me,” Meng Jiang said after a pause, hesitating. “That number…”

Unsure how to phrase the rest, she trailed off.

Qi Sijia didn’t give her a chance to finish. She turned away without agreeing or refusing, simply waving at Meng Jiang before heading back to the ward.

This trip had actually been quite fruitful. Qi Sijia’s attitude was far better than Meng Jiang had expected—almost unrealistically so.

A faint smile tugged at Meng Jiang’s lips as her mood floated somewhere midair, as if under a spell. She stepped into the elevator, bag in hand, watching the silver-gray doors slide shut in front of her.

This time, she was certain—Qi Sijia knew she was Meng Jiang. Though their subtle back-and-forth hadn’t led to deeper probing, she had at least received a positive signal.

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. A girl in a cast entered first, followed by a taller woman supporting her.

“Why did you hold back the pain?” the taller woman said. “Was it because I wasn’t good enough? Or because you don’t love me? Now look at you.”

The shorter girl glanced awkwardly at Meng Jiang and muttered, “There’s someone else here.”

“You care about what others think, but I don’t. The only one I care about is you. Why didn’t you tell me first when you were hurt, tired, or upset?” The tall girl’s voice was icy, as if she was furious.

“Spare me, please.” The shorter girl, her arm being held, apologized, “How could I not love you? No one thinks as much as you do. Every time I’m upset, don’t I text you right away? This time, I wasn’t sure if it was a fracture, so I hid it for just ten minutes because I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Last time your back hurt, didn’t you hide it from me for over an hour too? I treat you as my partner, not just some casual friend. What good does keeping distance and hiding your pain do for me? Do I need to maintain polite formalities with you?”

The elevator descended to the first floor. Meng Jiang lowered her gaze and stepped out, leaving the bickering couple behind.

“Babe, doesn’t that person’s back look like… Meng? Ahhh!”

“Is it?”

Their voices faded into the background as Meng Jiang walked thoughtfully toward the waiting van outside the hospital.

A fleeting thought brushed past her heart. Meng Jiang suddenly stopped, mulling over the couple’s words.

Sensing something off, her sixth instinct caught a glimpse of the unsettling calm beneath Qi Sijia’s control—an uncertainty lurking there.

That scheming little mute! Meng Jiang scoffed inwardly.

Chen Cheng was waiting for Meng Jiang downstairs. As they talked, Meng Jiang absentmindedly gave a brief account of what had happened.

Chen Cheng, however, was more shocked than anything. Lowering her voice, she tentatively asked, “So… you two made up?”

Meng Jiang shook her head.

“Then… are you friends now?”

Meng Jiang lifted her eyes to stare at Chen Cheng, neither nodding nor shaking her head, sending an eerie chill down the other’s spine.

Two grown women, their past five years tangled in complicated ties, reunited without resolving their misunderstandings, hiding behind masks, half-concealed, with only a thin layer of pretense separating them.

Their words were laced with half-truths, their exchanges seemingly harmonious.

They’d treaded deep and shallow waters alike, yet nothing felt solid.

Under the mesmerizing glow of the night lights, seeing Meng Jiang unwilling to elaborate, Chen Cheng changed the subject, shifting from personal matters to Meng Jiang’s work schedule for the next month.

Earlier, Meng Jiang had called in favors to take down the trending scandal about Qi Sijia online.

That’s how the industry worked—calling in a favor meant owing one in return.

And Meng Jiang wasn’t one to leave debts unpaid. She handled things with grace, agreeing to step in for New Joy’s CEO as a favor, though she hadn’t committed outright. If the script suited her, she’d take it; if not, she’d find another way to repay the debt.

With Meng Jiang’s tentative agreement, New Joy respectfully handed the script to Chen Cheng for evaluation.

Chen Cheng had spent days assessing the situation. The film in need of Meng Jiang’s rescue was an international production, with New Joy as the primary investor. Their original lead actress had become pregnant, and they needed someone of equal stature to step in.

After reviewing the script, Meng Jiang was the ideal fit for the role. But she had previously declined, citing a need for rest.

Chen Cheng had read the script—there were no issues. The production team boasted a renowned director and a high-profile crew, with potential for an Oscar run. The only catch? The screenwriter’s aesthetic sensibilities didn’t align with Meng Jiang’s.

Chen Cheng laid out the pros and cons, urging Meng Jiang to take the role. Not only was it a perfect fit, but working with an internationally acclaimed director would also expand her network, boosting her chances at the next Cannes Film Festival.

But with the benefits came risks.

Chen Cheng didn’t mince words: “You’ve got to curb that habit of yours—always wanting to tweak the script. If you push too hard, this could still fall apart.”

Initially, the production had considered Meng Jiang for the lead role but hesitated, wary of her reputation as a discerning powerhouse in the industry—difficult to work with.

As Chen Cheng rambled on, Meng Jiang rested her chin on her hand, responding distractedly.

Finally, as the conversation came to an end, she responded with a completely irrelevant answer: “I don’t know.”

“What?” Chen Cheng asked.

“What her relationship with me is—I don’t know.” Meng Jiang gazed at the flickering neon streetlights, the long row of blurred reflections stretching into the distance. The moon hung high and far above her, and she fixed her eyes on that crescent, murmuring, “It’s right in front of me, but I can’t make sense of it now.”

It was clear to the naked eye that Qi Sijia’s demeanor had darkened. She was no longer the quiet, solitary girl from five years ago, nor the aloof and resistant Qi Sijia who had coldly told her not to contact her again after their reunion.

She didn’t even match the image of the shy, lovestruck cleaner trying to pursue someone.

It was as if, in an instant, before any stance had been clarified, an inscrutable, tacit probing had seeped in.

Meng Jiang couldn’t quite grasp it, yet she faintly looked forward to their next encounter.

This sudden shift left her struggling to keep up.

Her fingers tapped rhythmically against her knee, one beat after another.

Chen Cheng slowed the car, clicking his tongue inwardly.

He couldn’t help but wonder—just what kind of extraordinary person could leave someone as poised and radiant as Meng Jiang so unsettled and lost in thought.