Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 48

An awkward silence hung in the air.

The system was shocked. “You’re not falling for the protagonist, are you? No, no—”

Setting aside how Qin Jue was a villainess who took pleasure in bullying the protagonist, even during her normal moments, she gave the system goosebumps.

How could a malicious antagonist who alternated between kindness and cruelty toward the protagonist possibly understand what true love was?

Qin Jue wheeled her suitcase back to the cruise ship cabin—a spacious one-bedroom suite that showed the production team had spent generously. Her investment hadn’t gone to waste.

Lin Yuebai followed behind, observing Qin Jue’s unchanged expression. After setting down her luggage, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and gazed at the boundless sea from the balcony.

A seagull hunting for fish failed its attempt, then turned its gaping red beak toward snatching bread from people on the shore. Qin Jue snapped a photo with her phone.

The system was screaming in her head, on the verge of tears.

“I’ll give you one more chance to answer…”

Qin Jue: “I like the protagonist. It won’t affect the mission. I have my own pace.”

The system was skeptical.

Qin Jue: “Is it possible that the reason I finished reading this novel in the first place was because I liked the protagonist?”

The system had to admit she had a point. “But the mission still needs to proceed as planned.”

Qin Jue nodded in agreement and turned to help Lin Yuebai unpack. Their fingers brushed as they worked.

“Let me handle this,” Lin Yuebai said softly, her voice low and gentle as if accustomed to such tasks.

“It’s fine. I packed the suitcase, so I know how everything’s arranged.”

Kneeling on the carpet, Lin Yuebai rested her chin in her hands and flashed a shy smile. Qin Jue’s heartbeat quickened. Avoiding her gaze, she continued folding clothes.

The scene was captured entirely by the cameras.

In the “Our Friendship” livestream:

“…Best friend, you’re such a homemaker.”

“Folding every piece of clothing neatly, stacking them in sealed bags with even the socks color-coordinated—sis, you’re truly my role model.”

“Whoever marries best friend will live a blessed life (biting handkerchief).”

“Lin Yuebai, step aside. Let me date her instead.”

“Wait, have you all forgotten Qin Jue’s past scandals?”

“Get real, commenter above. Forget whether those scandals were true—she’s not even in the entertainment industry. She seems to have ulterior motives for joining this show. I just checked; Qin Jue’s an investor.”

“Which raises the question: why would an investor actively participate?”

“Wild guess—she invested just to get close to Little Moon…”

“Shh, don’t say things that tarnish pure friendship.”

“I just beat up my roommate because she won’t sort my socks by color. Damn it!”

“Thank goodness she’s straight. We’re saved.”

After finishing with the luggage, Qin Jue found Lin Yuebai dozing on the sofa. She motioned for Gong Man from behind the cameras.

Gong Man was scraping coconut flesh from its shell after finishing the juice.

“What’s up?”

Qin Jue: “Send me today’s itinerary.”

Gong Man, her curly hair bouncing, frowned. “You don’t check the schedule?”

She looked down and forwarded the day’s agenda to Qin Jue’s phone.

Qin Jue popped a fruit hard candy into her mouth. “Yeah, I was in a hurry to hold the wedding ceremony with my little one this morning.”

Gong Man: “…”

The system flickered twice, looking rather half-dead.

Qin Jue knew the system was reminding her to maintain her villain persona. “That kid of mine is afraid of ghosts, so I switched tonight’s movie to a horror film.”

Qin Jue swiped through her screen. Tonight’s event required three pairs of friends to watch the same movie together and later share their individual perspectives.

The originally scheduled film was about pets and friendship—a story of a dog adopted by two friends who opened a small grocery store in a Nordic town. The heartwarming plot followed the protagonists as they encountered various neighbors and participated in touching stories through their little store.

Crunching the candy in the hallway, Qin Jue mused, “Lin Yuebai is terrified of ghosts and the dark. Making her lose composure on camera is totally villainous behavior.”

The system flickered again, agreeing this was indeed something a villain would do. Qin Jue’s lips curled slightly as she good-naturedly ruffled the system’s fur.

Watching the system convince itself, Qin Jue said, “You’re absolutely right.”

The system still felt something was off.

…

That night, in the movie theater.

It wasn’t until the film started and Lin Yuebai clutched Qin Jue’s hand in a death grip that the system realized the problem.

The other two pairs consisted of a famous celebrity with her manager, and childhood best friends.

Manager Liang Shan immediately covered the pink-haired starlet’s eyes. “The production team never mentioned we’d be watching a horror film! Don’t open your eyes.”

The starlet protested, “You’re covering my nose too.”

The manager adjusted her hand slightly, only to pale dramatically when a sudden terrifying scene flashed on screen—a pair of bl00d-red embroidered shoes moving slowly along a lonely stone path before vanishing, followed by a close-up of a ghostly white paper figure.

With all theater lights off, the pink-haired starlet, amused by her manager’s jumpiness, moved the hand covering her eyes aside—only to find the manager herself had her eyes tightly shut.

Scratching her pink hair, the starlet thought, This isn’t even scary. I’ve acted in worse.

And she’s this frightened?

Patting her manager’s shoulder, she said, “The scary part’s over, you can look now.”

The manager opened her eyes directly into a close-up of a paper funeral sedan, its curtain lifting to reveal a bl00d-teared ghostly face.

Manager: !!!

The pink-haired starlet giggled behind her hand.

Making it even creepier.

The childhood friends, though not horror fans, had mastered the rhythm of scary movies—closing their eyes during frightening scenes and only reopening them when they heard others react.

Their practiced routine was almost heartbreaking.

Lin Yuebai’s face had drained of color. As everyone lounged on beanbag chairs, they watched her practically burrow into Qin Jue’s embrace.

Being in a group should have made the horror film less frightening, but…

A flicker passed through Lin Yuebai’s eyes as she whispered mosquito-soft, “Qin Jue… I’m scared.”

Qin Jue watched the film’s structure and content with great interest, occasionally jotting down notes about the storyline and recurring elements in her notebook.

This was taking dedication to the extreme.

The system had long since retreated in terror to the depths of her consciousness, its little glowing form trembling like a shedding dandelion puff.

It resembled a tiny floating seed head.

The system thought: “…Not scared at all? She must really be the villain!”

Qin Jue mused: “Horror films don’t make up a large percentage of theatrical releases, but they have a stable audience. Making a good horror film isn’t easy—everything from costumes, makeup, set design, lighting atmosphere, to the director’s approach, and most importantly the pacing and emotional subtext woven through all the clues requires meticulous attention…”

The system was completely dumbfounded.

No wonder Qin Jue had been so wealthy before transmigrating into this novel.

Before the system found her, she’d just returned from an extravagant trip abroad—gazing down at the decadence of Las Vegas casinos from high-rise terraces, enjoying the most expensive beaches in Tahiti, chasing whales in speedboats…

The system had only seen Qin Jue’s pleasure-seeking side, overlooking her workaholic nature.

Qin Jue’s pen suddenly veered, leaving an abrupt black streak across the paper.

Lin Yuebai whimpered softly in her arms, peach-blossom eyes brimming with tears as her slender frame pressed desperately against Qin Jue.

“Qin Jue, I’m scared.”

Still watching despite her fear, Lin Yuebai’s voice trembled. Qin Jue gently patted her back, privately amused by the girl’s less-than-convincing acting.

When a jump scare suddenly appeared on screen, Lin Yuebai let out a small gasp, her body tensing completely.

Truthfully, Lin Yuebai was exaggerating slightly.

Her reactions blended in with everyone else’s, but Qin Jue could tell the difference.

Qin Jue softly reassured her, “The ghost in the movie is actually quite reasonable.”

Lin Yuebai knew she should appear vulnerable and helpless in this situation—she knew Qin Jue liked that.

Qin Jue tightened her grip on the girl’s hand.

“Close your eyes if you’re scared.”

“…It’s okay. I’m just a bit timid. Do you find me annoying?”

The woman’s fingers combed through Lin Yuebai’s disheveled hair as she lounged lazily on the beanbag chair, yawning. Perhaps this world really wasn’t entirely scientific—how else could she have transmigrated into a novel?

Qin Jue thought about poetic justice—the female ghost in the movie was quite principled, having killed only those who had wronged her, leaving no survivors in the entire compound.

Well, almost no survivors. She’d spared the compound’s large white cat. The ghost sister had her merits—feeding the cat between murders.

Couldn’t really fault her for distinguishing love from hate.

Qin Jue imagined if she’d been forcibly foot-bound as a young girl, carried in a sedan to become some landlord’s concubine, then passed around when he grew bored, left to die untreated when she fell ill, dragged into the courtyard to bake in the sun as an ill omen, and forced into a ghost marriage after death…

Her resentment would probably run deeper than that ghost’s.

Lin Yuebai squirmed in her arms, deliberately moving Qin Jue’s hand to her waist.

Her pale face looked ghostly white, lips pressed tightly together—only when Qin Jue glanced over did she manage a pitiful smile.

Still acting.

Lin Yuebai was considerate enough not to disturb Qin Jue while she was taking notes. However, whenever a scary scene approached, Qin Jue seemed to anticipate it, gently covering Lin Yuebai’s eyes with her hand.

She didn’t press hard—just enough to block her view without messing up her hairstyle or smudging her eyeshadow.

In the Our Friendship livestream chat:

“Our pink-haired sister is just too adorable, hahahaha!”

“Little Moon and her bestie… Qin Jue, I can’t believe you. The opportunity was right there, and you just let it slip away.”

“Taking notes at a time like this? Little Moon practically jumped into your arms, and you didn’t even hug her properly?”

“I actually think their dynamic is perfect—everyone doing their own thing. Little Moon being clingy, and bestie busy with her notes.”

“Rich people studying harder than me? My mentality is shattered.”

“That blockhead doesn’t even know how to comfort Little Moon. What a heartless woman—break up with her and date me instead!”

“Hahahaha, but you can tell Little Moon really wanted Qin Jue to hold her.”

“Before this, Lin Yuebai always came across as gentle, sweet, and poised on camera. Now we’re seeing a whole new version of Little Moon~”

The movie ended with the vengeful ghost sister finally achieving her revenge. However, due to the heavy karma of her killings, she was doomed to remain in the small village for eternity. Still, it wasn’t a bad ending for her.

The stray cats in the courtyard would always have fresh dried fish to eat. As time passed, even into the modern era, not a single theft ever occurred in that village.

The police station remained quiet—there were no crimes to report, and any minor disturbances were swiftly dealt with.

The ghost sister sat on the rooftop, chin in hand, watching yet another sunrise.

Only when the theater lights flickered back on did Lin Yuebai finally snap out of her daze.

The pink-haired celebrity helped her manager up—the poor woman had cried through multiple scenes, her eyes swollen like walnuts, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.

“You act so tough usually, but you’re this scared of ghosts?”

The manager was completely drained, still dazed from the fright.

The story was good, but the execution was way too terrifying.

As the credits rolled, the three pairs—six people in total—gathered in a small circle to discuss the movie.

The pink-haired star mused, “If I played the ghost, I could’ve made it even scarier. Honestly, the fake bl00d looked off—real bl00d is darker, thicker.”

Manager: “…”

The childhood friends exchanged a knowing glance. “We didn’t see much—we closed our eyes the second the creepy music started. But the cat scenes were adorable! And the ghost sister was actually doing good, punishing evil and encouraging virtue. She was a great person.”

All eyes turned to Qin Jue and Lin Yuebai. Qin Jue pulled out her notebook and—

“I think in the third act, the scene where the ghost sister hangs and kills the landlord could be more intense. The plot needs more back-and-forth tension—for example, have the landlord attempt to fight back first, thinking he can escape, only for the ghost to slip a hemp rope around his neck. Even then, the landlord could try negotiating, offering wealth and status, even using his descendants’ lives to bargain for incense offerings. The ghost hesitates briefly before killing him, which would better highlight her resolve and the landlord’s greed.”

“The ghost sister doesn’t accept any negotiations—she kills everyone, and the treasures naturally become hers.”

“The movie handled it too simply. There’s a lot of room for improvement.”

Qin Jue flipped through the papers absentmindedly, while everyone else remained silent.

Ah, no—you’re the real villain here.

The system trembled in fear. “……!!” What kind of host did I bind with?!

Lin Yuebai’s pale face had regained some color, and she still clung timidly to Qin Jue’s side.

The system muttered, “The livestream audience’s impression of the protagonist is shifting. As the villain, you need to keep harming her.”

Qin Jue, attending the tea party with the variety show guests, multitasked by mentally conversing with the system.

Qin Jue: “?”

The system, well-read, suggested, “For example, since the protagonist is afraid of the dark, you could deliberately turn off all the lights and leave her trembling in darkness all night.”

It tossed a few reference stories Qin Jue’s way.

The system: “Look at other villains—they’re purely evil, giving their systems zero worries. You’re the worst host I’ve ever had.”

Puffing up like an angry furball, it added, “There’s a banquet on the cruise ship tomorrow—perfect for humiliating the protagonist. As the villain, you must seize the opportunity.”

Qin Jue nodded thoughtfully but didn’t respond further. That night, after returning to her room, she bathed, changed, and turned off all the lights.

The system became the only source of light, though only Qin Jue could see it.

It whispered nervously, “Take it easy—don’t scare the protagonist too badly, or the plot will collapse, and you’ll be erased.”

Though sympathetic toward the protagonist, the system could only plead for mercy on her behalf.

Qin Jue, now in a bathrobe, reclined on a lounger outside, the glass railing before her framing the endless sea beneath a rising full moon.

Eyes closed, she let the sea breeze wash over her. Inside, the room was pitch-black, illuminated only by the system’s glow and the moonlight.

“Don’t you think this feels like a honeymoon getaway?”

……

Lin Yuebai returned to her room, still steaming from the hot springs where the pink-haired celebrity had dragged her.

At the doorway, she found scattered camera parts strewn across the floor.

The crew shook their heads helplessly—no doubt Qin Jue had thrown all the cameras out.

The livestream only captured Lin Yuebai’s back as she pushed the door open, unable to follow her inside.

Truthfully, Lin Yuebai wasn’t terribly afraid of horror films. While she did feel some fear, most of it was an act.

She wanted Qin Jue to fuss over her more, but Qin Jue’s aloofness left her uneasy.

She hoped Qin Jue would kiss and hug her more in front of the camera. Since both the audience and the production team knew they were a couple, why not tear down that last veil of pretense?

A shadow flickered through Lin Yuebai’s eyes—she wanted to be tied to Qin Jue as much as possible.

Qin Jue’s status was higher than others. Being with her would elevate Lin Yuebai’s own standing.

She never wanted to be looked down upon again, never wanted to endure those endless days as a trainee, repeating dance routines over and over.

She didn’t want to bow and scrape for advice from seniors, nor did she want someone to throw a box of mangoes—which she was allergic to—right in front of her…

Lin Yuebai admitted she was a vain person.

Qin Jue could satisfy that vanity and fill the hollow ache in her heart.

Her hand pressed down on the door handle. The room was pitch black.

The balcony was empty.

Lin Yuebai stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Hadn’t Qin Jue returned first?

Where was she?

In the absolute silence of the dark, the ceaseless sound of ocean waves outside layered upon each other.

Goosebumps erupted across Lin Yuebai’s skin.

Watching horror movies together hadn’t felt scary at the time, but now, a chill crept up her spine.

“Qin Jue?”

“President Qin…?”

“Are you in here?”

She fumbled for her phone to use as a light, but couldn’t find the switch after several attempts.

Suddenly, a hand, soft as a serpent, slithered over her body. Lin Yuebai gasped, her heartbeat skyrocketing.

Countless terrifying scenes from movies flashed through her mind. She stood frozen, a drop of cold sweat sliding down her forehead.

“Qin Jue, is that you?”

The hand tracing her shoulder blades showed no sign of stopping, gliding up and down in slow exploration. Another slender hand circled from behind to her abdomen. Holding her breath, her body stiffened as those hands grew bolder in the darkness.

Lin Yuebai wore a long-sleeved pajama set, the buttons loosely fastened—easy to undo with a single tug.

The person behind her remained silent, but the scent clinging to them gave them away.

The mingled fragrance of agarwood and roses enveloped Lin Yuebai. She exhaled in relief, her body gradually relaxing, though the lingering images from the films still made her break out in a cold sweat.

Lin Yuebai’s peach-red silk pajamas clung to her skin.

System: “Take it easy. The protagonist’s heart rate is spiking—don’t scare her into passing out.”

Qin Jue muted the system.

She didn’t need it to tell her what to do.

As the villain, she knew exactly what she should be doing now.

And she knew exactly how to go easy on Lin Yuebai.

Lin Yuebai felt every inch of her skin prickle with goosebumps. Rooted in place, she could only endure as that hand slipped beneath her clothes—

The icy fingers, as if freshly dipped in cold water, made her muscles twitch with every touch. It was… strangely thrilling.

“Qin Jue, stop… There are cameras outside—”

But all the cameras in the room had already been tossed out, and the crew had been dismissed. Lin Yuebai knew she couldn’t stop Qin Jue.

She was genuinely afraid.

Qin Jue neither spoke nor comforted her.

What a wicked woman.

A pang of resentment welled up in Lin Yuebai’s chest.

In the darkness, she could only make out a silhouette lifting her effortlessly and laying her gently onto the bed.

A full moon hung high in the night sky outside.

Lin Yuebai heard every button on her clothes pop open, one by one.

And the soft, steady breathing of the other person.

Cool fingers gradually warmed against her skin as Lin Yuebai’s gaze grew hazy, losing its usual sharp focus.

Qin Jue’s warm lips pressed against Lin Yuebai’s without uttering a word.

Qin Jue’s breath carried a natural chill, giving Lin Yuebai the strange illusion that she was passionately kissing a female ghost.

The ghost’s mouth was icy cold.

There was an ice cube in the ghost’s mouth.

The half-melted ice cube was pushed onto Lin Yuebai’s tongue, their teeth clinking against it in the darkness with an unpleasant sound.

Without the ice cube, their lips and tongues burned exceptionally hot as a tongue licked Lin Yuebai’s ear.

“Are you really that scared?”

Lin Yuebai trembled, her fingers clutching the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

“You’re shaking. Are you truly this timid?”

The ghost’s voice was hoarse yet carried her characteristic amusement. “Seems you’re not pretending.”

The girl’s act was too clumsy, and Qin Jue was immediately intrigued.

!

She’d been seen through.

Lin Yuebai blinked her eyes innocently. “Sister, I’m scared.”

Without any hesitation, she coquettishly leaned into Qin Jue, pressing a half-melted ice cube against Qin Jue’s collarbone with her lips.

The melting ice left a trail of moisture.

Lin Yuebai’s pupils suddenly contracted as she tried to turn the other’s head away.

“I’m not pretending to be pitiful—I really got scared by the movie. You—sister, that’s enough now. You’re scaring me like this.”

Her words came out fragmented. How could she have imagined someone of Qin Jue’s status would do such things?

Lin Yuebai didn’t know how soundproof the cruise ship cabins were. Not daring to make noise, she clenched her jaw tightly, breathing in shallow gasps.

Outside the window, the full moon hung high as seabirds occasionally perched on the railing.

The ship’s rocking motion shattered the moon’s reflection on the water.