I Am the White Moonlight that the Former Movie Queen Secretly Loves - Chapter 37

Meng Jiang had never considered this angle before. At this stage, hearing Qi Sijia mention that she hadn’t forgotten what happened five years ago left Meng Jiang utterly astonished.

For a moment, she was stunned. She turned her face away without immediately responding, her gaze lingering on Qi Sijia’s face for a long while.

After a pause, unsurprisingly, she found nothing.

As always, Meng Jiang couldn’t decipher what Qi Sijia was thinking.

Objectively, Meng Jiang didn’t believe Qi Sijia could move on so quickly.

These past few days, even though they had tacitly used the polished manners of adulthood to smooth things over in conversation, this kind of relationship couldn’t be defined as dating.

No matter how much she didn’t want to admit it, Meng Jiang knew deep down that after five years apart, there was an irreparable gap in their shared memories.

She hadn’t been part of Qi Sijia’s past, and since their reunion, there hadn’t been enough time to truly understand each other again.

Many issues remained unspoken.

Bringing them into the open and confronting them head-on was something Meng Jiang found hard to bear.

Despite her emotional intelligence telling her she shouldn’t continue this conversation—that avoiding depth would spare them both awkwardness, and a simple diversion would suffice—

the past two days steeped in this ambiguous, unresolved atmosphere had felt so intoxicating that Meng Jiang couldn’t resist probing further.

Under the soft lighting, steam rose from the tea, fogging up the lenses of Qi Sijia’s glasses. She set the cup down, pulled out a wet wipe, and began cleaning them. Her shoulders slightly hunched, creating a hazy silhouette in the light, as if Meng Jiang could glimpse a trace of lingering emotion in her expression.

Meng Jiang’s fingers idly tapped against the glass in her hand.

Qi Sijia looked up, noticing Meng Jiang’s gaze, and met her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Meng Jiang narrowed her eyes, a faint smirk playing on her red lips. “I’m getting a little carried away.”

Qi Sijia thought she misheard. “What?”

Meng Jiang didn’t elaborate, as if she were merely stating her current state of mind. She swirled the wine in her glass absently before taking a sip.

Then she looked back at Qi Sijia, who remained so composed that Meng Jiang realized she might be the only one caught up in this intoxicating haze.

The tea swirled, making her head spin. Just as the mood settled, the waiter arrived with their dishes, politely saying, “Enjoy your meal,” before leaving.

Meng Jiang lifted her head and called out, “Qi Sijia.”

Qi Sijia looked up. “Yes?”

“What’s your intention these past few days?” Meng Jiang asked in a teasing tone. “Tell me, so I know where I stand.”

Qi Sijia raised an eyebrow. “Why the sudden question?”

“Because your recent attitude has been a bit odd. I’m not entirely sure—it’s almost like…”

Meng Jiang paused, recalling the last time at Qi Sijia’s place, when the latter had completely ignored her while showering. But the circumstances now were entirely different from back then.

“Like what?” Qi Sijia’s eyes widened slightly.

“Like you don’t see me as a… woman?” Meng Jiang blurted out the thought she’d had during their class reunion, though her smile remained unchanged. There was a hint of confidence in her eyes, a certainty that their relationship had evolved far beyond what it once was.

Her intention to pull Qi Sijia into this game of ambiguity was unmistakable.

Qi Sijia chuckled. The light reflected off her glasses as her gaze briefly dropped to Meng Jiang’s chest before she smoothly changed the subject, deadpanning, “Does that even make sense? Sure, cosmetic procedures can mimic anything, but with a figure like yours, do you really expect me to lie and pretend you’re a transgender woman?”

Meng Jiang was about to be overwhelmed by her ethereal gaze, so she simply averted her eyes. Measuring her with an equally serious look, she said, “No need to belittle yourself. You’re not bad either.”

The dishes at Jingfangzhai were primarily Southern cuisine, leaning toward sweet flavors, with delicate appetizers to start.

They didn’t chat while eating, nor did they eat while chatting—bowls and chopsticks were set properly.

Qi Sijia didn’t look at Meng Jiang either and asked, “You really want to know?”

Meng Jiang nodded.

“Let’s eat first,” Qi Sijia said. “After the meal, I’ll tell you.”

Meng Jiang lowered her gaze. She was far too perceptive—Qi Sijia’s choice to discuss it after the meal rather than give an answer outright was too telling.

The reason for postponing it was likely to avoid saying something unpleasant beforehand that might sour the mood.

Understanding this, Meng Jiang adopted a playful tone: “What are the odds you’ll pretend you never heard that whole line of questioning earlier?”

There was no good way to respond. Qi Sijia simply smiled, picking up a crab dumpling with her chopsticks. She pierced the delicate wrapper, releasing a spoonful of rich broth. Blowing on it lightly, she took a satisfied bite, savoring the burst of flavor on her tongue.

When she looked up again, she noticed Meng Jiang hadn’t touched her food, instead distractedly sipping red wine from a goblet.

Qi Sijia, who had been holding a shrimp dumpling with serving chopsticks, changed direction and dropped it into Meng Jiang’s bowl. “Try one?”

Meng Jiang froze, then suddenly laughed.

Back when they were deeply in love, Qi Sijia would shower her with all sorts of thoughtfulness and tenderness. Because, at her core, Qi Sijia was a reserved person—sometimes even oblivious to flirtatious advances hidden in others’ words.

But there had been exceptions. During the time Meng Jiang taught her how to love, Qi Sijia had been the perfect partner.

So perhaps things weren’t as irreparably severed as the worst-case scenario might suggest.

Meng Jiang had initially thought she could handle their current ambiguous relationship with patience, but she had overestimated herself.

Being strung along like this—just a few more moments of it, and she wouldn’t be able to take it.

The meal lasted nearly an hour, with little conversation between them.

Even after eating and drinking her fill, none of her usual polished social skills had come into play.

“Can you tell me now?” Meng Jiang finally cut straight to the point.

Qi Sijia: …

Their eyes met, and Meng Jiang understood. She smiled again, unwavering as she said, “I’m guessing you want to say you see me as a friend.”

Qi Sijia was momentarily taken aback, not yet having the chance to confirm.

Meng Jiang slid her chair closer, shedding all traces of jest as she said seriously, “Earlier, when we ran into Ge Yaru, there was something I wanted to say that might be a little presumptuous.”

“Go ahead.”

“That day at the hospital, I heard everything she said to you.”

The abrupt shift in topic took Qi Sijia a second to process. Then she realized Meng Jiang was referring to her conversation with Ge Yaru at the hospital.

“I was afraid you’d bring this up,” Qi Sijia replied with a resigned smile.

“Then let’s talk about it,” Meng Jiang said, propping her chin on her hand and locking eyes with Qi Sijia. “Ge Yaru said you’re harsh—that you have zero tolerance for every girlfriend you’ve had.”

“Why is that?”

Her tone was unhurried, even though there was a seat between them. Leaning forward slightly, she tilted her head as if to listen more closely. “How come, with me, you can still go back to being friends?”

Qi Sijia found herself at a loss for words. She sighed inwardly—Meng Jiang was far too sharp. If she wanted to push things further, she had countless ways to tear down the thin barrier between them.

It was predictable that Meng Jiang hadn’t played all her cards yet. If Qi Sijia didn’t answer, Meng Jiang could always follow up with another question: “Why, despite being so emotionally detached, do you always end up with girlfriends who are the wild, carefree type? Or why do you only date people with terrible personalities? Deep down, have you always been subconsciously aiming for a breakup from the start?”

These were questions Qi Sijia simply couldn’t answer.

What Meng Jiang meant to her—truth be told, Qi Sijia hadn’t fully figured it out herself.

Making rash promises or waiting indefinitely wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

And right now, thinking about these things was far too premature for Qi Sijia. She had too much on her plate—she was about to leave for the U.S. to undergo the hypnotherapy she had long resisted, with no certainty she’d return cured.

Leaving someone with promises felt dishonest.

For the past five years, Qi Sijia had been completely closed off, deliberately avoiding any memories from before that time. She had nearly forgotten what kind of person she used to be.

It was only after that night, triggered by the rhythm of Huadan, that some long-buried memories resurfaced on their own. Forced to confront her past self, she gradually realized she had never truly made peace with herself.

She had sealed away her most painful memories, including those of Meng Jiang. Even when her severe social anxiety had escalated into depression, she had refused to consider hypnotherapy.

For those five years, faced with Ge Yaru’s accusations, Qi Sijia hadn’t defended herself.

She had even tried to analyze the common traits among her ex-girlfriends, only to realize she could barely remember them. None of those relationships had lasted long, and they had all been initiated by the other party. The only person Qi Sijia had ever pursued—the one who stood out—was the penthouse owner.

And in the end, that penthouse owner turned out to be Meng Jiang.

It was as if she couldn’t escape this vicious cycle. Round and round it went, until Qi Sijia resigned herself to fate.

Peeling back the layers of her most agonizing memories, she saw that—setting aside the outcome—Meng Jiang hadn’t brought her the bitterness and resentment she had expected. Instead, those moments were filled with the quiet passage of time and the vibrant colors of the world.

But the scars remained. Now, just as Qi Sijia was beginning to understand her own circumstances and preparing to seek treatment, the idea of rekindling a romance with Meng Jiang felt entirely inappropriate.

That wound wasn’t just five years old. At every moment since, Qi Sijia had never truly faced it. She needed time to think.

“I don’t know,” Qi Sijia said bluntly.

Meng Jiang nodded, studying her for a moment longer than necessary.

There was something unusually heavy in Qi Sijia’s tone, but Meng Jiang didn’t realize that when Qi Sijia spoke of “moving forward,” she meant breaking free from the darkness of her mental illness, from the death of Grandma Qi, from the oppressive dominance of her father, Qi Jun.

Meng Jiang had only glimpsed a fraction of Qi Sijia’s time in the reformatory. She had no idea that Grandma Qi had died the day they broke up, nor did she know about the severe social anxiety Qi Sijia had battled all these years—the psychological struggles that required medication to manage.

Qi Sijia had directed all her harshness at others but had never laid the bloodstained truth before Meng Jiang, never burdened her with it.

She didn’t share any of this with Meng Jiang now. Instead, she simply took control of the conversation, stating plainly that, for the time being, she had no intention of starting another relationship.

Let nature take its course. Otherwise, carrying the shackles of the past while unable to shed this psychological burden would make any further discussions seem like immature posturing.

Their eyes met, and Meng Jiang wasn’t surprised. She took a sip of red wine.

“Fine. I won’t ask anymore.”

“You seem to have known the answer in advance,” Qi Sijia said.

Meng Jiang’s lips curved slightly, though there was little light in her eyes. “At the last class reunion, at your place, you said you fought with your family for a long time over coming out and were sent to a reformatory. My only thought at the time was that no matter how I explained it, my retreat back then was wrong. That wound won’t fade so quickly.”

Qi Sijia was surprised by how perceptive Meng Jiang was. Indeed, it wouldn’t fade quickly, but there was no longer any lingering bitterness either.

Meng Jiang mocked herself, “The fact that you haven’t turned and walked away or greeted me with a cold face is already something I should be grateful for.”

Qi Sijia looked at Meng Jiang. “Goddess, this isn’t like you.”

“What would be like me?” Meng Jiang set down her glass and met Qi Sijia’s gaze directly. “Or should I force you into a round instead?”

Qi Sijia gave Meng Jiang a once-over and said seriously, “Have you… changed positions now?”

Meng Jiang was momentarily stunned by the question, then couldn’t help but curse under her breath before laughing. “Guess.”

“I won’t.” Qi Sijia finished her appraisal, as if she hadn’t just made a dirty joke, and calmly wiped her mouth with a napkin before setting down her chopsticks.

“I’m full.”

Both of them appeared perfectly composed, as if the earlier probing and awkwardness had been softened.

There was no need to push every topic to its breaking point.

Qi Sijia’s attitude made it clear that tonight’s conversation was over. They tacitly took a step back—Qi Sijia needed time, confident that Meng Jiang would understand.

As expected, Meng Jiang swirled her wine glass and played along. “What, you expect me to cling to you desperately?”

The rejection was anticipated, but at least the conversation had drawn a reaction from Qi Sijia.

Meng Jiang seemed to have a rough idea of where things stood and smiled along with Qi Sijia.

Their shared laughter smoothed over the earlier awkwardness.

Most of the time, Qi Sijia wasn’t this sharp-edged. It was just that from the moment she met Meng Jiang, she had defined their boundaries—keeping the other at arm’s length. But now, she found that letting things flow naturally felt good. Whatever their relationship might become, at least it didn’t have to be steeped in bitterness.

Qi Sijia clinked glasses with her effortlessly.

“Tell me about yourself. How have you been these years?”

Meng Jiang took another sip of wine, her lips glistening under the light in a way that made one want to kiss them.

Qi Sijia glanced briefly before looking away, the motion almost imperceptibly deliberate.

Noticing this, Meng Jiang smirked. “Not great. Stayed single all this time, and don’t plan on dating anyone else in the future. Career-wise, though, it’s been decent. Saw more of the world, started a media company, became a producer, and my acting career’s been alright too.”

She shared a couple of significant experiences from the past few years.

But the first two sentences made her intentions clear. People called Meng Jiang a goddess—she was the object of many fantasies. Yet after Qi Sijia, she could never imagine being with anyone else.

Qi Sijia understood what she meant. After a moment’s thought, she nodded and said, “What a shame. With your qualities, finding love shouldn’t be difficult.”

Meng Jiang’s fingers lightly rested on the cup as she suddenly lifted her gaze, staring straight at Qi Sijia. “Not possible,” she said.

A server knocked and entered, bringing a bowl of sobering soup. Meng Jiang said they hadn’t ordered it.

The server then looked toward Qi Sijia.

Half an hour earlier, on her way back from the restroom, Qi Sijia had detoured to the front desk to request it.

At this point, Meng Jiang stared at the sobering soup, visibly moved. After a long pause, she tugged at her lips and said, “See? You’re treating me like a child too, aren’t you?”

The implication was clear—she still cared.

Meng Jiang’s tone was playful, pretending that in the past, she might have smoked a cigarette or drowned her sorrows in alcohol after being rejected, but not anymore.

Even as she claimed she wouldn’t drink to numb herself, she raised her glass and took another sip of red wine.

Qi Sijia said, “You’ve had too much.”

The glass tilted slightly, spilling a few drops of crimson wine onto the floor. Under the glow of the overhead fluorescent light, Meng Jiang lowered her eyes, her lips brushing the rim of the glass as she smiled. “Only my partner gets to tell me when to stop drinking. Tonight, Teacher Qi, let me have a little more. I’m feeling down.”

What should have been an unspoken understanding had turned into this. Qi Sijia hadn’t expected Meng Jiang to be so uncooperative.

“Then what would make you feel better?”

“The earlier question was too hard to answer. Let’s pretend I never asked, okay?”

Before Qi Sijia could respond, Meng Jiang continued, “Let me be selfish—I’ll ask you something else instead.”

Her gaze was earnest, tinged with a hint of insecurity.

As long as it wasn’t the previous question, Qi Sijia had nothing to hide. “Go ahead.”

“Have you moved on from your last relationship?”

“Last relationship…” Qi Sijia thought for a moment. “Shu Ran?”

“No.” Meng Jiang deftly shifted the focus. “The one where you liked the penthouse owner.”

The question was convoluted, splitting herself into two.

Qi Sijia was amused. Was there even a difference?

But seeing the intensity in Meng Jiang’s eyes, she considered it and answered honestly, “I’ve moved on.”

“Any thoughts on when you might start the next one?”

Qi Sijia lifted her gaze, meeting Meng Jiang’s direct stare.

Suddenly, she smiled. Outside the window, the night was serene, with remnants of snow clinging to the eaves from days past.

Qi Sijia turned her eyes away, gazing into the long stretch of darkness. There was no sharpness in her expression—only gentleness as she said, “I don’t have any plans for that right now.”

She used the word “right now,” a subtle shift from her earlier “not considering,” leaving room for imagination.

Meng Jiang, emboldened by the alcohol, pressed further with a satisfied smirk. “Does that mean you might consider it in the future?”

Qi Sijia neither confirmed nor denied, raising her glass to take another sip of cold tea.

Meng Jiang noticed.

As the tea touched her tongue, Qi Sijia’s narrow eyes crinkled slightly. Catching Meng Jiang’s gaze, she met it.

A faint trace of amusement flickered at the corners of Qi Sijia’s eyes.

Meng Jiang raised her own glass, taking a gulp of chilled wine. Her longing was laid bare in her eyes. Though she wasn’t drunk, her words carried the weight of intoxication. “Why are you so hard to chase?”

The complaint drifted into Qi Sijia’s ears like a whisper carried by the wind. Lowering her lashes, Qi Sijia concealed the quiet warmth in her own eyes.

It was fainter than Meng Jiang’s, but she couldn’t deny it—from the very beginning, Meng Jiang had always been different to her.

Their conversation ended there for the night.

What should and shouldn’t be said, along with future developments, had all seeped in.

Meng Jiang returned home very late.

Chen Cheng called to ask how things had gone.

Meng Jiang curled her lips slightly and said, “It went well. I got rejected.”

“You’re happy even after being rejected?”

“It’s good.” After a long pause, Meng Jiang answered again.

Qi Sijia had changed in some ways, evolving in a direction that was almost mesmerizing.

As for how much she herself had contributed to that, Meng Jiang couldn’t say. Because in Qi Sijia’s memories, she had once occupied the negative parts—or perhaps the shadows that lingered.

But from now on, she wanted to become one of the good things in Qi Sijia’s life.

So, everything was just fine.