I Am the White Moonlight that the Former Movie Queen Secretly Loves - Chapter 9

After hanging up the phone, Qi Sijia didn’t immediately add Meng Jiang as a friend.

She finished cleaning, then went to the tenant group chat to post a notice about the upcoming demolition of the development zone next month.

Only then did she reluctantly open WeChat, lightly tapping the screen to enter Meng Jiang’s phone number into the friend search bar.

Soon, Meng Jiang’s profile picture appeared before her.

A white background with red lips, a luxury-brand lipstick in the shape of a “Q” gliding across them.

The image could be interpreted as the Q-shaped lipstick kissing Meng Jiang’s lips.

Almost reflexively, Qi Sijia’s fingers trembled violently.

A glass of water was right beside her. She picked it up and took several sips of cold water, barely managing to calm herself down.

When she looked at Meng Jiang’s profile picture again, her expression remained indescribable.

So blatant—what was this about?

Her mind drifted to those detailed posts summarizing how actress Meng Jiang couldn’t forget “Miss Q.”

…

Qi Sijia realized she couldn’t stop herself from overthinking.

The “Add Friend” button was right beneath her finger, but in the end, she irritably exited the screen, unsure how to handle this thorny situation.

Her fingers unconsciously scrolled up and down her friend list.

The array of profile pictures was dizzying—many of them belonged to people Qi Sijia didn’t even recognize or remember adding.

As someone with social anxiety, she avoided unnecessary interactions. Only a small fraction of her contacts were familiar, and she regularly spoke to just a couple.

With ninety percent of her friends essentially inactive, having one more or one less—Meng Jiang—made no difference.

They could even delete each other after the money transfer was done.

But Qi Sijia couldn’t bring herself to do it. She agonized over every interpersonal decision, as if she were some kind of overthinker.

And when it came to Meng Jiang, she was even more meticulous.

Maybe she didn’t even understand why herself.

Unable to figure it out, she couldn’t even consult someone in the know—hardly anyone had been aware of her college relationship with Meng Jiang.

Not even Ye Qianqian could be asked.

Frowning, Qi Sijia racked her brain and concluded that seeking advice from fans might be the most reliable option.

The message came from the 17th Drama Club’s “Huadan” cast group chat.

Back then, the Drama Club was the largest student organization at Ning University, securing record-breaking investments and frequently landing commercial performances.

The club was not only well-funded but also exceptionally talented.

The students who joined the 17th Drama Club were practically the cream of the crop from Ning University’s acting, directing, and screenwriting departments.

“Huadan” was a stage play assembled under these circumstances, bringing together the club’s strongest lineup. Apart from Qi Sijia, nearly everyone involved had since become industry elites.

The one who @-ed everyone was Li Ang. After graduating, he switched to hosting. Five years later, he was now a permanent fixture on a top variety show and was quietly being groomed as the successor to the current king of late-night TV, Jin Xiao.

In terms of status and influence, Li Ang was now on par with the best. Alongside Meng Jiang and Fu Chuchu, he was one of the three most prominent figures in the group.

The appearance of a genuine celebrity—and a former classmate—instantly drew out a flood of lurkers.

“Here, of course.”

“You’re not busy today?”

“Director Li, when are you free? Let’s all meet up.”

…

After a round of flattery and small talk, Li Ang—who seemed to be swamped with work—finally reappeared much later.

He replied to the group: “Has everyone seen the trending topics? Our club president is in Ningcheng right now.”

“My goddess is back.”

“Ah, it’s been so many years. The goddess is indeed the top wherever she goes. I hate myself for not looking at her more back then—now I can’t even see her anymore.”

“She’s Meng Jiang, the dream of the human world.”

…

“It’s been five or six years since I last saw Meng Jiang and everyone,” Li Ang said. “What do you all say—should we invite the award-winning actress to join us for dinner? My treat.”

“Sure!”

“If you can actually convince Meng Jiang,” even Fu Chuchu, who had been lurking silently as an idol, showed interest. “Count me in.”

“I want to go too!”

“Me too!”

…

“Speaking of which, Director Li, your connections must be pretty solid now if you can actually get Meng Jiang to come?”

The comment clearly hit a sore spot for Li Ang. He humbly replied, “With my status, of course I can’t invite her. But since everyone’s so excited, I’ll just have to shamelessly ask our Professor Ding to step in. Let’s see who dares to ignore our dear teacher’s invitation—sneaky.jpg.”

With that, he promptly @’ed Professor Ding.

…

Li Ang’s words were slick. Though he was the one who brought up the topic, hoping to reconnect with Meng Jiang—his prestigious university connection—he was also aware of the status gap and deftly shifted the responsibility to their teacher.

Anyone with eyes could see his intentions, but the allure of Meng Jiang attending a class reunion was too great. Naturally, everyone enthusiastically supported his proposal.

Reunions years after graduation were often just subtle competitions in disguise.

Qi Sijia skimmed through the chat, uninterested, and exited the group.

The conversations with her former classmates didn’t provide any solutions to her dilemma either.

Unable to decide whether to add Meng Jiang, Qi Sijia did what she always did—she sought collective wisdom.

Closing WeChat, she logged into Weibo.

Her Weibo account was practically a ghost town, with a profile picture still set to a sleeping photo of her cat, Big Orange, from six years ago.

It hadn’t been changed in years.

The latest pinned post was from two months ago, when she first published Sinking—her usual routine announcement: “I’ve updated Sinking Chapter 1 on Huangjiang Literature. Mobile version: link. PC version: link.”

Qi Sijia rarely posted on Weibo. If she had questions, she usually asked her readers in the author’s notes.

But since she had just posted a hiatus notice, it wouldn’t make sense to backtrack and update immediately—that would seem dishonest.

Seeing the red notification dot with 99+ unread private messages, she ignored them as usual. Her slender fingers moved to the top-right corner, where she drafted a poll.

#FirstLove# If your long-lost first love—someone you’ve long since broken up with and will never get back together—suddenly asks to add you on WeChat, and after adding her, you realize her profile picture is the initials of your name… what would you do?

A: Add her, treat her as a stranger, and delete each other after handling the matter.
B: Don’t add her, ignore it.

After setting up the poll, to prevent Meng Jiang from seeing the options, Qi Sijia cautiously set it to “followers only.”

This Weibo account was officially verified by Huangjiang Literature, with over 100,000 followers. Though sizable, it wasn’t enough to trend, and Qi Sijia—known online as Ji Liu—kept her real-life identity well-hidden. Even Wei Yunfang and Qi Jun didn’t know this was her pseudonym.

There was no way Meng Jiang, who hadn’t been in contact for five years, would find out.

With that in mind, Qi Sijia posted the poll, planning to check the results tomorrow after voting ended.

The weather was getting colder. With her first day at a new job tomorrow, Qi Sijia set her phone aside and headed to the storage room. She dug out her self-prepared hazmat suit, gas mask, and cotton gloves, sterilizing them under the UV disinfection lamp.

After finishing, she made herself a cup of lemon water.

Only after returning to the study did Qi Sijia notice her phone charging on the computer desk.

Unplugging it, she saw her WeChat flooded with messages.

Among them, the rental group and the classmate group both had 99+ replies.

Qi Sijia skimmed past them without a second glance. Below were two messages from strangers who had contacted her through group chats.

She tapped open the first one.

Sijia, hello, this is Teacher Ding.

Last time I ran into your mother, I heard you’ve been working in Ningcheng. It’s been five years since graduation, and I’ve missed you dearly. I’d like to invite you to the reunion for the 2017 Drama Club members.

Li Ang was truly relentless—he’d even roped in Teacher Ding, the round, kind-hearted mentor from their drama club days, to personally send out reunion invitations to every former member.

When a beloved teacher called, there was no refusing.

Qi Sijia pulled open a drawer, grabbed a full bottle of heart-saving pills, and stuffed it into her pocket before reluctantly agreeing.

After replying to Teacher Ding, she tapped open the second unfamiliar WeChat account.

The profile picture was a system-generated smiley face, with no notes attached—utterly perfunctory.

Unfazed, Qi Sijia opened it.

MJ account. This is Meng Jiang. Accept the request.

At the sight of the name “Meng Jiang,” Qi Sijia froze for a moment, her fingertips turning cold as she tapped open the flower-avatar WeChat profile.

Username: MJ

Instinctively, she adjusted her posture, leaning closer to scrutinize it again. She realized this WeChat account wasn’t the same as the one she’d found earlier by searching Meng Jiang’s phone number—it seemed to be an alternate account.

Before Qi Sijia could ask, Meng Jiang, as if reading her mind, replied coolly:

That’s my main account. It’s not convenient to add outsiders. Use this one instead.

Meng Jiang had always spoken to strangers in this tone, though she’d tempered it somewhat in recent years for the cameras.

Still, a hint of displeasure was detectable.

Qi Sijia pretended not to notice and didn’t ask, as she once would have, whether something was bothering her.

Got it. Qi Sijia replied.

Meng Jiang’s smile faltered. You’re not angry that I said that?

After accepting the friend request, Qi Sijia responded: Of course not. A celebrity’s privacy is important. I’ll delete all your contact info later—don’t worry, no one else will know…

Before she could finish typing, a notification popped up:

Meng Jiang has transferred 13,210.02 yuan to you.

Attached was a settlement receipt from the Huaping Garden cashier.

Did the profile picture scare you?

Meng Jiang: Main account.

It had.

Qi Sijia pressed her lips together. You—

Tch. Meng Jiang cut in. You actually considered adding my main account?

Qi Sijia: Wasn’t that what you told me to do?

Meng Jiang ignored the question entirely. Think whatever you want @Meng Jiang Luxury Brand Logo.

She tossed over a link and decisively ended the conversation, showing not the slightest intention to reminisce or delve deeper.

In fact, she seemed even more eager than Qi Sijia to cut short this awkward exchange.

Her actions made her aloofness unmistakable.

Baffled, Qi Sijia browsed through all the luxury brands Meng Jiang endorsed.

The lipstick avatar didn’t represent her first love, “Miss Q.”

It was the logo of the first luxury lipstick brand Meng Jiang had collaborated with. The only oddity was that the lipstick’s design coincidentally featured a Q-shaped letter—symbolizing “bouncy hydration.”

Her fingers tapped idly on the screen as Qi Sijia chuckled to herself.

When it came to Meng Jiang, she tended to overthink. The solution was simple: ignore it, and the problem would vanish.

By now, Qi Sijia had no intention of deleting Meng Jiang anymore.

It made her seem all the more guilty with such clumsy denials.

–

At the top floor of the prestigious Golden Fame Residences.

The salad bought by the new assistant, Su Wan, had three grams too much salt.

Meng Jiang put away her phone and glanced at the young girl, who stood stiffly, her hands clutching a camera behind her back.

Meng Jiang had noticed that silver-white camera earlier in the morning. She hadn’t called it out, giving the girl a chance.

The assistant contract explicitly stated that no private disclosure of the artist’s whereabouts or personal photos was allowed.

Yet, within just one day on the job, the new assistant had already slipped up twice.

Clearly, the pre-job training had been inadequate, but she couldn’t blame Chen Cheng—time had been tight. This was the third assistant change this week.

Normally, Meng Jiang would have given the girl some leeway on the first day, observing for a few more days before deciding whether to keep her. But right now, she wasn’t in the mood.

Turning, she walked to the water dispenser and poured herself a glass.

Returning to the dining table, Meng Jiang now held a measuring cup in her right hand.

She carefully measured out one milliliter of water, double-checked the scale for accuracy, and then poured it into the salad to dilute the saltiness.

Seeing this, Su Wan suddenly remembered the exact salt measurement Meng Jiang had specified for her lunch an hour earlier.

But at the time, she had been too busy secretly snapping photos of Meng Jiang without makeup and hadn’t paid attention to the exact grams. She’d just thrown out a random number to the chef, assuming Meng Jiang wouldn’t notice the difference. But…

Eyes reddening, Su Wan stammered, “Sis, it’s all my fault. I got the measurement wrong just now. You can dock my pay…”

Meng Jiang gave her a sidelong glance, lips curling into a smile. “It’s fine. You don’t need to come back tomorrow.”

After Su Wan left, Meng Jiang’s irritation still hadn’t subsided. She opened a bottle of Lafite from the wine cabinet.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, she took a deep swig.

Just then, her phone rang repeatedly.

“You logged into your Weibo alt account?”

“And used the logo of the luxury lipstick brand you endorse as your profile picture?”

The caller was Chen Cheng. Meng Jiang tapped the bottle lightly and admitted, “Not only did I log into my alt account, but I also used my luxury lipstick avatar to vote for a little author struggling with relationship troubles.”

“Miss Meng.”

“Award-winning Actress Meng.”

“Goddess Meng…”

Chen Cheng wished she could fly straight back from Venice, grab Meng Jiang by the ear, and demand, “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do,” Meng Jiang replied. “Chen-jie, do you know who she is?”

“Who?” Chen Cheng’s tone shifted at Meng Jiang’s tone, a bad premonition creeping in.

“Qi Sijia,” Meng Jiang said.

“Qi Qi Qi…” Chen Cheng’s voice faltered. “Your…”

Meng Jiang said, “Miss Q.”

A long silence followed on Chen Cheng’s end before she finally exhaled. “I seem to recall you have a five-year no-dating agreement with President Shen…”

Meng Jiang tilted the wine bottle, a drop spilling onto the beige shag carpet.

“That woman Shen Tunan—wasn’t she sent off to dig coal in Italy recently? Why bring her up?” Meng Jiang scoffed, rolling up the carpet to replace it tomorrow.

Her voice was naturally deep and commanding, laced with a hint of sweetness. “Two more months, and my five-year contract with Shen Tunan expires. The debt of gratitude I owed her—I’ve repaid it tenfold over the years by funneling resources from the Meng family to her.”

Chen Cheng knew exactly what Meng Jiang meant by “tenfold,” but Shen Tunan was hardly a pushover.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Meng Jiang: “Why should I be?”

Chen Cheng was left speechless, recalling Meng Jiang’s drunken confession last year: “What do you even see in her? Status? Power? Money?”

“Last time you said she hasn’t been single for five years, clearly a player. And since you haven’t seen each other in so long, with her being a shut-in, it’s normal for her to have gained weight, broken out, and become unrecognizable. As for you still pining after her and wanting to rekindle things—what if her alt account gets exposed and she latches onto you or stirs up drama?”

Meng Jiang, slightly tipsy, was annoyed by Chen Cheng’s words. She dug out an old photo of Qi Sijia from her phone album and sent it over.

After a long pause, Chen Cheng murmured, “There’s something about her… No wonder… No wonder she’s a player.”

For Chen Cheng to say she had “something” about her spoke volumes about her looks—no further explanation needed.

The whole world knew it. Only Qi Sijia herself didn’t.

Meng Jiang narrowed her eyes, gazing at the neon lights outside the window, reflecting on everything she’d done over the years.

Truthfully, she didn’t even know what she wanted.

Reconciliation after a breakup? Given how hard it was just to add her on WeChat today, she doubted that ice block Qi Sijia would agree.

The image of Qi Sijia breaking up with the resentful Shu Ran yesterday flashed through her mind, stirring a bit of frustration.

But then she found it amusing.

After all these years, Qi Sijia hadn’t changed at all. Her views on love were stubborn, conservative to the point of being fastidious.

When in a relationship, she strictly upheld her principles; after a breakup, she detached immediately, absolutely refusing to look back.

Five years, so many relationships where she got dumped—by all accounts, she should’ve reached player status in others’ eyes. Yet she hadn’t even held hands with any of her exes. Thinking about Qi Sijia’s so-called exes, they were far more pitiable than her own current predicament.

Meng Jiang amused herself with the thought—all things considered, she wasn’t at a loss. At least she didn’t have to worry about Miss Qi actually falling for someone else or being tainted.

After all, that boring woman—only she could see her good qualities.

Her mood lightened, and Meng Jiang abruptly changed the subject: “I fired your newly hired assistant.”

Chen Cheng sighed in frustration. “What did they do wrong this time?”

“Secretly took photos.”

“Finding a replacement on short notice might lead to the same problem,” Chen Cheng said gravely.

Meng Jiang originally had a dedicated assistant, but they were on leave. Chen Cheng was away on vacation and couldn’t personally oversee the hiring, so she didn’t dare leave the task of finding Meng Jiang’s personal assistant to an agency.

Without proper pre-job training, issues with assistants were bound to arise.

“I’ll take care of myself for now,” Meng Jiang said. She was in a semi-vacation state, only participating in Lantai’s weekly variety show. Her personal driver was still around, so she could rely on him for many things.

Meals were even simpler—takeout would do. She didn’t need an assistant around all the time.

Chen Jie still wasn’t reassured. “Are you sure you’ll manage?”

“I’ll be fine.”

–

After the start of winter, the weather grew colder by the day. Though snow hadn’t yet fallen, the temperature difference between morning and evening was around ten degrees.

It had been a long time since Qi Sijia left home at six in the morning.

The next day, as she descended the stairs from the fifth floor, a gust of cold wind rushed through the hallway, catching her off guard and scattering her ponytail.

Her hair tie fell onto the staircase, her hair spilling loose. Qi Sijia searched for a while.

As she bent down, the biting wind felt like it could rip her face mask off at any moment.

Almost instinctively, she swung her backpack to the front and pulled out a blue-and-white scarf. Wrapping it twice around her neck, she tucked her ears, cheeks, and hair into the soft knit fabric, finally feeling slightly better.

The stairwell was old and the floor wasn’t particularly clean.

But since the building was slated for demolition soon, Qi Sijia didn’t bother worrying about it.

The property in the development zone had been under Qi Sijia’s name for several years, and she had even hired professionals to maintain it in the past.

But no matter how much effort was put into upkeep, the five aging buildings in the old neighborhood still looked dilapidated.

Elevators couldn’t be installed, and most of the hardware facilities were damaged.

Moreover, because the rent was cheap, the place was densely populated. The high foot traffic had worn down many of the shared areas, leaving them in an even more decrepit state.

It wasn’t until the demolition plans were announced half a year ago that tenants gradually began moving out, leaving many units abandoned.

The wear and tear improved slightly, but since demolition was imminent, there was no point in further repairs.

Previously, sanitation workers had regularly cleaned the area, but over the past month, with tenants moving out frequently, the hallways had inevitably become dirty.

As she walked, Qi Sijia stepped on several discarded plastic packing tapes left behind from moving, the sticky residue clinging to her shoes. She had no choice but to find a secluded spot near the building entrance, crouch down, and peel the tape off her soles.

“Zhang Defa, have you heard? The development zone is getting demolished. The landlord’s telling us to move out ASAP.”

Two gaunt middle-aged men walked toward her, each wearing a yellow hard hat.

They seemed to have just gotten off work, their eyes heavy with exhaustion, dark circles sagging as they yawned repeatedly. The taller man pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and handed it to the shorter one.

The shorter man took a deep drag and exhaled. “If we could move, who’d want to stay here?”

The taller man sighed and nodded. The faint morning light cast shadows over the weathered lines on his face. “Xiaolian’s mom asked around a few days ago. The cheapest two-bedroom apartment she could find—”

He held up all ten fingers. “—costs at least a thousand.”

“Damn, might as well rob us.”

The two men exchanged glances, the hardship of life reflected in each other’s eyes. As they reached the stairwell, the shorter man glanced at the home he’d lived in for years, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and muttered, “If only the landlord could give us until the end of the year. Where else are we gonna find a place for three hundred a month before then?”

The taller man stayed silent, his mood somber.

They smoked in silence, the dim streetlights casting long shadows as they walked past Qi Sijia, lost in their own worries.

From start to finish, neither spared her a second glance.

Dressed in a black face mask and protective goggles, Qi Sijia looked bizarre. After they walked away, she thought for a moment, then sent a text to Qi Jun, asking about the development zone situation.

An hour later, Qi Jun’s assistant replied regarding the demolition: “Nothing can be done.”